


Supernatural Season 1 (introducing Jane Winchester) [part 1]

by turtletortoise



Series: Winchester Sister Rewrite [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I tried my best, Multi, She's pretty cool, Sibling Love, Winchester Sister, i really like supernatural, my first work on here, please leave feedback, sister has an actual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 101,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtletortoise/pseuds/turtletortoise
Summary: Two months before the fire that burned down the Winchester house and killed Mary, another child was born. Her name was Jane, and she was the baby of the family, always trying to be just like her beloved big brothers, Sam and Dean. She grows up strong, brave, funny, and smart, with a heart of gold and a habit of getting herself into trouble. Years after the fire, Sam leaves for Stanford, abandoning Jane and leaving her to grow up with only Dean and her father. But then John goes missing.Dean and Jane embark on a mission, recruiting Sam to rejoin the cause, to find their father, but they find much more than they ever bargained for, and uncover a mystery bigger than them or their family.This is a Winchester sister rewrite, but in between the rewritten episodes are original episodes, giving Jay her own storylines and plot, cases to solve and relationships. It's sure to be a wild ride for this little family. Please leave comments and kudos, as this os my first fanfic and I'd love advice!  :)





	1. Pilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings-mentions of suicide, swearing, a few sexual jokes i guess(?), canon-typical violence, ghosts, angst teenagers.
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

Lawrence, Kansas-15 years ago

To any person in the whole world, there would be nothing weird about this street-nice lawns, suburban architecture, kind and normal families inside. The thing is, it is a normal street. But tonight, something very not normal-not natural you may say-is going to happen.  
A woman named Mary Winchester is carrying her newborn baby, Jane, to her room, her two sons, Dean and Sam, following her. She walks into the newly furnished nursery and sets the small baby girl down, her eyes already shutting with tiredness.  
“Come on boys,” She says, her voice sweet and quiet. “Let's say goodnight to your sister.”  
Dean walks over first. He’s 11 years old, and cares about nothing else but baseball. “ ‘Night Jane,” he says. It doesn’t sound like he cares, but in reality he’s already decided that he would kill anyone who even looked at her wrong.  
Sam walks over next. He’s six years old and loves his baby sister. Having been a younger sibling for so long, he’s determined to be the best big brother he can be. He leans over and kisses her forehead. “Goodnight Jane.”  
Finally Mary leans over. He kisses the small blonde baby too, and whispers quietly. “Goodnight baby Jane. I love you.” Before leaving she brushes a hand over her hair. Even now, she has some. Mary thinks she’ll grow up to have boatloads of curly blonde hair.  
A man appears in the hallway where the two older brothers are “Hey, Dean.” They turn around and there he is-their Dad. Sam takes off and jumps into his arms, smiling as wide as any kid could. “Daddy!”  
“Hey, buddy,” he responds, picking him up so he’s carrying him into his room. He walks past Dean and ruffles his hair, a gesture that annoys Dean but secretly please him. They both head back into the nursery, passing smiling Mary. She pecks John on the cheek.  
“So what do you think?” He jokes, leaning over Jane’s cradle as all the other family members have done earlier. “You think Jane’s ready to toss around a football yet?”  
Sam shakes his head innocently, and laughs a laugh that fills the room with smiles. “No, Daddy.”  
“Plus, she’s a girl,” Dean chimes in, scoffing in ridiculousness. A girl? Playing football? No way. Mary walks up to her eldest son, looking him in the eye with a new seriousness-but there’s still a loving mother in there, and a smile ghosts her lips.  
“Hey. Girls can play football too, De” she chastises. Dean only rolls his eyes in response, but he knows that if Jane wanted to play football he’d let her. He’d even help her practice. Sammy didn’t like sports, maybe she would.  
Mary walks over, the chaotic routine of putting three younger children to bed re-entering her mind. She checks to make sure her husband is on the same page as she is. “You got Dean, I got Sammy?”  
John nods and flashes her a smile, beginning to lead Dean out the door. “I got him.” Before leaving he leans back into the room and whispers a parting gift. “Sweet dreams, Jane.”  
Sam and Mary follow shortly after, leaving the youngest Winchester alone in her room. Above her, a tiny mobile with flowers and leaves begins to spin, and the mushroom night light in the corner flickers. Flicker. Flicker. Jane doesn’t even notice.  
Mary does notice. She’s laying in her bed down the hall when her baby monitor starts flashing and making strange noises. Flash. Crackle. Flash. Crackle. “John?” A quick glance around the room shows that she’s alone. But it’s okay, right? Jane’s probably just hungry again, no big deal. She heads down the hall into the baby’s room but stops-John beat her to it. She sighs in exasperation, regretting getting up. “John? Is she hungry?” But John doesn’t respond. He turns around and puts a single finger to his lips.  
“Shhh.”  
“All right,” Mary replies, weirded out by the conversation but too tired to care. She heads back down the hallway, her feet making quiet foot falls on the carpet. She stops. A light is flickering. Flicker. Flicker. She taps on it twice, the light going back to its normal steady burn. But the flickering continues elsewhere in the house. Downstairs.  
Mary decides to investigate, walking down the stairs into the living room. Her chest lifts when she sees it's just the TV, John slouched in-John. John is upstairs. The realization hit her like a truck, panic overtaking her brain in seconds flat.  
“Jane!” She calls, her footfalls now hurried and fast. “Jane!” She stops in the nursery. She stops, and she screams.  
Downstairs, John awakes with a start to one of the most terrifying sounds he’s ever heard. His wife screaming bloody murder.  
“Mary?” He’s out of the chair in seconds flat and pounding up the steps. His footfalls are different than Mary’s. Desperate. Loud. “Mary!”  
He bursts through the door with a loud bang. Nothing. “Mary?” He asks, quietly this time. The room is quiet and peaceful, nothing out of the ordinary. Jane was still asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling slowly. Everything perfectly as it should be.  
Deciding that everything in that room is okay, he heads over to Sam’s room. The air smells stale. Like it’s about to implode. Sam is stirring though. He backs out of the room, almost convinced that everything was okay and not wanting to wake up his youngest son. But then, a drop. Drip. Drip. He glances up and sees the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. His wife, pinned to the ceiling. Blood slowly spreading around her stomach.  
And then fire.  
John doesn’t remember much of the rest, just flashes. He remembers his knees giving out and his body collapsing. He remembers waking up Sam and the choking screaming sound he made when he saw his Mom on the ceiling. He remembers Dean coming in and his knees collapsing. He remembers shoving Jane into his arms.  
He remembers nothing else.  
The firefighters arrived fifteen minutes later. All they see is two young boys holding a baby in their arms, and a father who will never recover.  
*********  
Stanford, Massachusetts-present day

Sam is dreaming about cars. They’re chasing him, and they’re talking. Telling him to run. Run. But you can’t outrun a car, can you? All he can hear are the engines of the car gaining speed and force, and his panting breaths and then-crash. That’s...not a car sound. That’s a broken window sound. He would know, he’s broken at least a dozen in his 22-year long life. He’s up in a second, being extra careful not to wake his sleeping girlfriend Jessica. His footfalls are light and quiet, a practiced stealth walk.  
Sam pads into the room adjacent to theirs. A coffee cup sits on a desk next to an open window. An open window he’s 100% positive he shut before he went to bed. Hell, he never even opens that window. It opens on the area where people like to smoke, so when it is open the whole apartment smells like cigarettes. He’s sure he didn’t leave it open. He moves to the next room over, and sees a flash of movement. One figure-larger, male probably. Sam can take him. He tucks himself into a corner, waiting for the man to pass again. 1...2...3.  
The man enters the living room the exact time Sam estimates he will. His hand shoots out and latches onto his shoulder, spinning him around to face him. It’s too dark to see his face, but frankly Sam doesn’t care. With practice he didn’t quite expect, the mystery man knocks his arm off and sends a fist flying at his face. He’s able to dodge it, but he notes that this guy has some training. Before Sam can lay another blow to him, he has Sam’s arm locked in his grasp and he’s swinging him around, shoving him through the doorway he first came through into the hall near his bedroom. There’s more light here, but he still can’t make out his face; it’s just a shadowy mixture of light and dark, like an old painting. He grunts something, but Sam can’t quiet make it out. Jam? Lane? Yet again, he doesn’t care much.  
While Sam was trying to figure out what he said, the man lands elbow to his face. Ouch. He manifests his anger in a kick to his head, which he also manages to dodge (somehow). What?! Sam thinks. He should not be losing this fight. He’s 6’4” and has been training since he was 7, he should be winning!  
After a few more back and forths, he’s on the ground. And he can finally see the intruder’s face.  
“Whoa, easy, tiger,” the man pants. Wait. He knows that voice.  
“Dean?” Is about all he can choke out, his arm pinning into his neck and his exhaustion hitting him. God, he needs to work out more. Dean laughs, a sound Sam hasn’t heard in...what, four years? He pushes aside his relief at it not being a serial killer and his happiness at seeing his brother and focuses on anger because he still broke into his goddamn apartment.  
“You scared the crap out of me!”  
Dean smiles that cocky-ass smirk he always does and retorts. “That's 'cause you're out of practice.” This bitch. Sam lets his anger take the wheel for a second and he shoves his brother hard, pushing him down onto the floor so that they’ve switched positions. Dean doesn’t stop smiling, just laughs a bit more.  
“Or not,” he says, tapping Sam twice on the arm-their childhood sign that the fight was over. “Get off of me.” He begrudgingly helps Dean up so their standing, facing each other. His hair is a bit different, a bit more styled. He must have broken his nose recently, it’s a bit more crooked than usual.  
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam asks, getting right back down to business. They haven’t done so much as shoot each other an email in the past 4 years, why break into his apartment now?  
“Well, I was looking for a beer,” Dean jokes, looking around the apartment. “But I got a bit sidetracked.” His eyes take in the place-it’s nice. Sam’s pretty proud of how it looks, even though most of the decorating was done by Jess. His attention turns back to his younger brother, shaking his shoulder gently as a gesture of affection.  
“What the hell are you doing here?” He insists again, driving the point home. Dean sighs, rolls his neck and relents.  
“Okay. All right.” His face turns a bit darker, as if something’s wrong. He stops smiling and his posture improves, the way it does when their Dad walks into the room. “We gotta talk.”  
“Uh, the phone?” Sam questions, because he still can’t get over the fact that he broke into his freaking apartment.  
“If I'd'a called, would you have picked up?” Ouch. It’s a low-blow, but he has to admit he wouldn’t. His thoughts are interrupted by some more scuffling and a yelp. A female yelp. In a second he’s moving, running down the hall to see Jessica being restrained by-Jane?  
He turns on the light, illuminating the scene before him. Yep, that’s definitely Jane. Same crazy blonde-ish hair, same blue-grey eyes. She was taller though, and she had a tiny new scar on her nose. She was also definitely holding his girlfriend hostage.  
Her eyes were wide and she looked scared, an expression that triggered something deep inside him. “Sam?” Dean followed him into the other room, taking in the sight next to him with wide and amused eyes.  
“Jess, hey,” he breaths, reassuring her with calm eyes. “It’s okay, I know these people. Dean, Jane, this is my girlfriend Jessica.” He shoots a pointed look at the teenage girl standing in front of him, and with a reluctant sigh she releases Jessica. Her face dawns with realization.  
“Wait, Dean and Jane, your siblings Dean and Jane?” She asks, looking them up and down. Dean does the same, pulling Jane behind him in a gesture that feels old and practiced.  
“Oh, I love the Smurfs,” he begins, referencing the cartoon characters on her shirt. He’s turning on that classic Dean Winchester charm. “You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of-”  
“Dean,” Jane interrupts. Her voice has changed. It’s deeper, more mature. God, Sam had missed her growing up. The thought punches straight to his gut and a feeling of regret and guilt that he hadn’t felt since he first left for Stanford washes over him. “She’s taken, don’t even go there.” Well at least her sass hasn’t changed.  
Jess takes a hesitant step back and points towards the bedroom, Dean’s flirting attempts obviously making her a bit uncomfortable. “Just let me put something on…” she says, already retreating towards the room.  
“No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of-”  
“STOPPING YOU,” Jane nearly shouts over him. She shoots Jess a apologetic look and a quick smile, trying to apologize for her stupid older brother’s mistakes. Dean sighs and his shoulders relax, his hand coming up and squeezing the smaller girls shoulder in a gesture that could be kind, but the tightness of his hand makes it seem more like it’s a punishment. She rolls her eyes. “We’ve gotta borrow your boyfriend here, anyway, talk about some private family business, so go ahead. And sorry about him.”  
“But, uh, nice meeting you,” Dean buts in, desperate to get the last word.  
“No.” Sam pipes up, worming his way through the over crowded and dimly lit hallway to stand next to Jess. His hand pulls her waist close to him and connects them at the hip so that they are a force to be reckoned with. “No, whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her.”  
“Okay,” Dean begins with a raised eyebrow, Jane offering up a nearly identical expression. They always were the most similar physically. His posture becomes stronger again, and his head lifts. Both of their smirks are gone now “Um. Dad hasn't been home in a few days.”  
This news doesn’t surprise Sam, it’s not uncommon that their deadbeat dad John isn’t around. Sure it sucks, but it’s just life for the three of them. He scoffs. “So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later.”  
Dean ducks his head in a way that Sam can’t quite read, and then Jane steps forward as if to speak for him. “Let me rephrase that, Dad’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days.  
Sam’s face stills for a second, the whole world narrowing into just those words from his little sister’s mouth. He can see Jane offering that trademark sympathetic puppy dog eyes she picked up from him, and he can see Jess glancing up to him in concern but it doesn’t quiet matter. This matters.  
“Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside.”  
*********  
“I mean, come on,” Sam began, running down the stairs of his apartment building. The scent of cigarettes was back and very prevalent. “You can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you two”  
“You're not hearing me, Sam,” Jane spoke up. She was in the midst of pulling her all too unruly hair back into a ponytail. Sam could see there was a random braided piece, an old habit of hers. Braid her hair when she’s anxious. She always gets these random braids everywhere though. Dean liked to joke it made her look like a hippie. “Dad's missing. Just gone. No phone calls, no nothing. Completely off the map.”  
“Okay, you remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton?” Sam retorted, bending down a bit so he could look her in her eyes. “He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine.” It was true too. Their Dad going missing wasn’t a crazy thing, it had happened before and he was sure it would happen again.  
Dean stopped and turned around, causing the whole group to halt on the middle of the staircase. God, if anyone walked out to see three ragtag teenagers standing outside in the stairwell in the middle of the night it would definitely raise some questions. Jane stopped before even running into him and without looking. It was like they had some psychic brain connection or something.  
“Not for this long. Now are you gonna come with me or not?” The question was blunt, straight to the point. Both his green eyes and Jane’s blues looked dead into his eyes in a way that made you think they were staring straight into his soul and reading his deepest thoughts. Lucky for Sam, he had been on the receiving end of this look too many times, and it didn’t affect him anymore.  
“I'm not.” Jane’s face fell and she looked away, beginning to walk back down the stairs. Sam could tell she was trying not to show her disappointment, but her acting was never that good.  
“Why not?” Dean probed, following Jane down the stairwell. After a brief moment of hesitation Sam continued as well, not willing to just cut off the conversation.  
“I swore I was done hunting. For good.” Dean stayed facing him while Jane walked down ahead. Never looking back, cold as ice. She was always good at that.  
“Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad.” There’s a joking tone to his voice now, as if every word he says is so undeniably true that Sam’s an idiot for not following along. He has to fight down some rage at the statement because of how much of a lie it is.  
“Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45.” Jane shoves open the door, the cigarette stench strong enough to make him flinch and the cold autumn air rushing into the stairwell. Dean follows behind and Sam has no choice but to walk outside himself, in only some sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s beginning to regret not changing  
“Well, what was he supposed to do?”  
“I was nine years old!” Sam threw his hands up in the air as he walked out onto the sidewalk. “He was supposed to say, don't be afraid of the dark.”  
“Don't be afraid of the dark? Are you kidding me?” He thinks he can hear Jane snort at this from a few feet in front of them, but if she does she doesn’t show it. “Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there.”  
“Yeah, I know, but still.The way we grew up, after Mom was killed, and Dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her. But we still haven't found the damn thing. So we kill everything we can find.”  
Dean’s eyes narrow. “We save a lot of people doing it, too.” There’s a new stillness to the air at his comment. Jane stop walking when she reaches the corner, leaning against the wall and securing her ponytail. She’s at the perfect distance where she can listen but not be noticable. Dad taught her that.  
“You think Mom would have wanted this for us?” There it is. Sam was holding back the final blow, the one that might work, in fear of it hitting a chord. Jane whips around suddenly, the ice in her eyes replaced by fire.  
“I think Mom would want us to stay together.” With that final comment, she rounds the corner and stalks away.  
“Ignore her, she’s a teenager,” Dean mutters, continuing his walk down the sidewalk.  
Sam continues, desperate to prove his point to at least one of his siblings. “The weapon training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors.” He can remember at least seven times where he was treated like a soldier before he was even 12 years old.  
Dean rounds the corner and heads towards the car, a familiar sight. The Impala-the car Sam practically grew up in, the only place he considered home. He didn’t miss hunting, but he did miss this. Jane was already in the passenger seat, her arms crossed and her eyes closed. She could be asleep if he didn’t know better.  
“So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?” His tone is accusatory, strong. His eyes show the same thing, but buried deep in there is want. Want for him to say yes, to come with him.  
“No. Not normal.” Because normal life? That’s not real, that’s fantasy. Life for him will never be normal. “Safe.”  
Dean’s shoulders go slack, his face goes back annoyed again. They’re back to square one, to the place they always fall back to. “And that's why you ran away.”  
He paces to the other side of the car, posture more relaxed now. More...defeated. “I was just going to college. It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing.”  
“Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it.” It’s a silly statement. He can’t feel it, he has no psychic intuition as to what their Dad is going through. He glances back at Jane, who still isn’t asleep. She needs acting lessons. “I can't do this alone.”  
The sentence catches him off guard. This is his big brother, his idol from childhood, just admitted that he needs him. And then he remembers how bullshit it is, because there’s literally someone else fake sleeping in the passenger seat of his car. “You’re not alone, you’ve got Jane.”  
Dean laughs softly and rubs a hand through his hair, his expression more soft and genuine. “Yeah I guess.” He pauses and glances around the parking lot. “I still want you to come. She does too. She’s been bouncing off the walls all day, I forgot teenagers had this much energy. She-we just want you back.”  
Sam looks down. He’s fighting himself mentally, because on one hand it’s just one hunt and Dad maybe in danger and he hasn’t seen Jane and Dean in a while, but on the other hand he can’t just up and leave because they want him to. He sighs. “What was he hunting?  
Dean smiles and knocks on the window, flashing Jane a smile and a thumbs up. She brightens instantly, her face lighting up into a smile as she nearly bounces out of the car. The two head back to the trunk of the car and prop it open, revealing the secret weapons stash. Sam restrains himself from shaking his head. Only their family, only this car.  
“All right, let's see, where the hell did I put that thing?” He’s elbow deep in the stash looking for who knows what. Jane picks up a flashlight and shines it into the truck so he can see.  
“So when Dad left, why weren’t you two with him?”  
Jane pipes up. “We were working our own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans.” She seems disinterested, as if it’s no big deal. Sam on the other hand, is shocked.  
“Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?” Dean leans up from his search, defensive.  
“I'm twenty-six, dude. I can take care of a hunt and a pain in the ass little girl for a few days. I don’t need Dad babysitting me.” Jane punches him in the arm at the little girl comment, so hard Sam’s not sure it won’t bruise. Dean just shoves her back. She barely stumbles.  
He finally seems to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a manilla folder. Sam almost scoffs at how normal it looks. Such an average domestic item hiding among lethal weapons. “All right, here we go. So Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago this guy went missing.”  
He holds out a picture of a man. He’s white, late-twenties maybe, looks normal. Nothing strange about him. “They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.” Jane finishes the sentence for him, not even needing to look at the folder. She must have done her reading. “Just up and gone. The police have no clue where he went.” So she did do her reading.  
“So maybe he was kidnapped,” Sam offers, still looking for a random back door out of this situation. But of course they’re not going to say oh guess you’re right we’ll leave you in peace.  
“Yeah. Well, that’s not the only one,” Jane explains, snatching the folder out of her brother’s hands. She opens it up to reveal a section she must have organized, judging by the doodles in the margins of the articles and photos there. A star, a few flowers, a stick figure, a detailed drawing of a gun. “Another one in December 'oh-four, 'oh-three, 'ninety-eight, 'ninety-two, ten of them in the past twenty years. All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road.”  
Dean continues. “It started happening more and more, so Dad went to dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough.” He digs around in the trunk for a second more before removing a tape recorder. “Then I got this voicemail yesterday.” He presses play.  
Through the static and bad audio quality, John Winchester’s voice can be faintly heard. Sam is hearing his Dad’s voice for the first time in forever, and it’s strangely anti-climactic. No yelling, no quiet argument, just a voicemail. “Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger. Protect Jane.” More static.  
Sam takes a minute to replay the audio in his head. The static, the foggy words… “You know there's EVP on that, right?”  
Dean smiles appreciatively as his hunting skills make themselves present once again. “Not bad, Sammy,” he fiddles with the machine for a second. “Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it?” Jane laughs faintly in the background. “All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got.”  
He presses play again. This time, it’s a woman’s voice, much more clear than their father’s was previously. It’s message is short, simple, and haunting. “I can never go home…” Jane presses stop, the unnerved look on her face showing that she’s not quiet comfortable with whatever this is hijacking their Dad’s cell phone.  
“Never go home,” he ponders the words, running them through his mind. What could it mean, why couldn’t she go home, what is she? The trunk door shuts with a loud THUNK, snapping Sam out of his thoughts. Dean leans against the car lazily as Jane hops up and sits on the trunk. As usual, they move in sync.  
“You know, in almost four years we’ve never bothered you, never asked you for a thing,” Jane begins. Her tone is angry again, the happy smile from earlier gone. She’s glaring at him with the heat of a thousand suns, so hard it almost hurts him. He turns away, unable to face that stare without a retort of his own. They’re right of course.  
He sighs for about the 100th time that night. “All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him.” Jane’s face lights up once again, a childlike smile crossing her face. She still has those smile lines around her eyes. Dean pats him on the shoulder.  
“But,” he states, bringing up the only catch to this plan. “I have to get back first thing Monday.” Where Jane’s expression barely falters, his older brother’s turns into one of confusion. He turns off, heading back to his apartment so that he can pack a bag. “Just wait here.”  
“What's first thing Monday?” Sam stops, caught off guard by the question. He didn’t expect either of them to care or be interested. He hesitates, not wanting to reveal what he’s been up to while he’s been gone.  
“I have this…” He trails off and takes a breath, breathing in courage. “I have an interview.”  
Jane scoffs. “What, a job interview?” She laughs again, nothing able to break her out of the happiness high she’s been on since Sam said yes. “Skip it.” He doesn’t even want to think about how this attitude has gotten her through life so far. She’s what, 15? Why isn’t she in school?  
“It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate.” His tone is defensive once again and he squares his shoulders against the judgement radiating off of his two siblings.  
“Law school?” Dean asks, his tone a bit more sincere than his face is showing. He’s still wearing that trademark smirk of his. Jane begins to pick at the sleeve of her jacket. It looks familiar. Maybe it’s his.  
He stands his ground. “So we got a deal or not?” Jane jumps off the hood of the car and moves closer to him. She has to look up to see into his eyes, and after a moment she nods.  
“Go pack a bag.”  
*********  
Dean walked into the convenience store 10 minutes ago, saying he was going to get “breakfast”. Before he left, conversation was fine. Jane was animated, funny, talkative. The second he left though, she went silent. The air seems to stand still, neither wanting to make the first move.  
Sam gives in. “So...you still into soccer?” Jane doesn’t look up from her lap, continuing her stare. Dean may have forgiven him for running off, but she certainly hasn’t. That’s what teenage hormones can do to you.  
“No.” Her tone is curt, her words short. “I haven’t since I was like, 12.” A deep breath. “But you wouldn’t know that.” The last phrase feels added on, quiet-as if he wasn’t meant to hear it. He did anyway-it’s a small car, sound doesn’t travel far.  
He peers back to see what she’s doing. She’s scribbling something in a notebook, her brows furrowed in concentration. Occasionally she closes her eyes and mouths words. “You’re still writing?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out as surprised as they are, but it does shock him. She was always writing little stories when she was younger, fairy tales and stuff. He figured she’d grown out of it.  
She glances up. Her gaze is a bit softer, but still cold as ice. “Yeah, I’m still writing.” She looks back down and continues her scribbles. Sam sighs, deciding it’s not worth it. He lifts up the box on the floor and begins rifling through the tapes.  
“You still play basketball?” Jane’s looking up now, her blue eyes wide and expectant.  
“Yeah, actually. Not for the school or anything, but-” The door opens and shuts with a slam. Dean slides into the seat with a paper bag.  
“You guys want breakfast?” He doesn’t wait for Jane to respond, he just hands her a cup and something that could either be a bagel or a doughnut. Knowing Dean, it was probably the latter. He then turns to Sam, holding out another bag. Sam raises an eyebrow.  
“No, thanks.” He keeps digging through the box, examining each individual tape. So far nothing sparks his fancy. “So how'd you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?”  
Jane laughs, her smile back now that Dean is in the car. “Hunting doesn’t exactly pay well Sammy.” She holds out her sleeve and shows it to him. “Hell, I can’t even afford clothes. This is your jacket.” He examines it for a second. It is his jacket, from when he was 13 or so. The button on the left sleeve is missing-ripped off when it got caught on a doorknob.  
“Besides,” Dean continued, “all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards.”  
Sam laughs. That’s his brother all right, making excuses for highly illegal activity. “Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?”  
“Bert Aframian and his children Hector-”  
“And Zoe,” Jane says with a little smile, as if pretending to be someone else is an achievement. Jesus christ, how much trouble had this girl gotten herself into in the time he’s been away. He pushes it aside.  
“That sounds about right.” He focuses his attention back on the tattered and old box in front of him. “I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection.”  
Dean’s posture turns defensive and annoyed in half a second and Jane half-laughs-half-groans from the backseat. “Why?”  
“Well, for one, they're cassette tapes,” Sam begins, pointing out the ridiculously outdated technology. “And two, Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?” He laughs. “It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock.” Jane groans again from the backseat, slouching over dramatically, with a mutter of something along the lines of don’t even start.  
“Well, house rules, Sammy.” Dean shoves a tape into the player and the stereo comes to life. “Driver picks the music-”  
Jane joins in on the second part, confirming his suspicion that this is a phrase he’s repeated many a time. “-shotgun shuts his cakehole.” He glances back at Jane, giving a small smile of appreciation for her snark. She winks back at him. Maybe she doesn’t hate him.  
“You know,” he begins, addressing the other problem he’s noticed recently. “Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's Sam now, okay?” Both of the other people in the car laugh, much to his annoyance. Jane reaches forward and turns up the music she was complaining about not two minutes ago.  
“Sorry, I can't hear you, the music's too loud.” Dean laughs once again and they drive out, the old car blasting AC/DC.  
*********  
It’s about two hours later when Sam addresses the question that’s been on his mind since Jane and Dean broke into his apartment.  
“Why aren’t you in school?”  
Jane rolls her eyes as if she was waiting for the question to come up. Her response is quick and factual. “Kicked me out.”  
“Okay, so?” He questioned. Dean had been kicked out of a school once back in the day. They just took him to a new one. “You go to a different one.”  
Jane looks at him as if the answers the most obvious fact in the world. “C’mon. I show up to school everyday with a new bruise, I wear boy’s clothes that don’t quite fit me, I never have a legit answer to what my parents do, that adds up. They sent me to a psych ward.”  
The last part catches him off guard. “A psych ward?”  
“Yeah. After a while I got tired of lying. I said I hunted monsters. Currently three different school districts think I am in Philadelphia getting treated.” The answer itself is sound enough, but Sam still doesn’t like the idea of his younger sister not getting education.  
“Okay, but-”  
“She finished high school Sammy.” Dean’s voice took him off guard. He wasn’t expecting him to get as interested in a conversation about schooling. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Jane said Dean was the one who bailed her out of the place.  
“What?”  
“She finished it. Took some online courses. She has a diploma and everything.” He seems sincere too. Sam glances back at Jane for confirmation. She nods. “She’s a damn genius.”  
He nods, satisfied with the answers he received. “Well okay then. I’ve got a genius for a sister.”  
Jane laughs at the accusation, slapping him in the arm.  
“Says Mr. Law school over here.” He expected the words to be mean and spiteful, but they’re not. They’re genuine and there’s something in there (maybe pride?) that makes it seem like any malice wasn’t intended. She’s also smiling, and it reaches all the way to her smile lines.  
*********  
Sam shuts his phone with a sigh, having gotten almost nothing out of that conversation. “All right. So, there’s no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue.”  
Jane doesn’t look up from her nails as she picks at them. “That's a win, I guess.” Dean remains focused on the road in front of him, eyes narrowing as a bridge comes into view.  
“Check it out.” The aforementioned bridge was crawling with cars-cop cars. Meaning something had happened, probably relating to their case as they had entered Jericho a few minutes ago. Jane leans forward until all their heads are even. After a second of contemplation, Dean pulls over and begins rummaging through the glove compartment. He hands Sam a leather pouch and grabs one for himself, tossing Jane a smaller plastic card. “Let's go.”  
Dean and Jane get out of the car in sync, their feet hitting the ground with confident strides. Sam follows along behind them, ready to just take their lead on this one.  
A deputy is leaning over the railing of the bridge and yelling at two men below him, who are digging through the muddy ludge of the “river” beneath them. “You guys find anything?”  
The men below look up. “NO! NOTHING!” Their voices are laced with frustration. Sam’s would be too if he had to poke around in that shit.  
The first man walks over to another deputy, who’s inspecting a car in the middle of the bridge. Nothing about it looks suspicious. The second deputy explains. “No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints. Spotless. It's almost too clean.”  
“So, this kid Troy. He's dating your daughter, isn't he?”  
Number two scratches his head. “Yeah.”  
“How's Amy doing?”  
“She's putting up missing posters downtown.”  
Dean inserts himself into the conversation, his head held high. “You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?” The first deputy’s spine straightens as he looks Dean in the eye, offering a confused glance to the smaller teenage girl following him around.  
“And who are you?” Sam panics for a quick second before Dean flashes the leather pouch from earlier-it’s a nearly perfect badge. No one could tell the difference.  
“Federal marshals.”  
Unfortunately, this doesn’t cut it for the deputy, whose eyes narrow in suspicion. He gestures at Jane. “That one’s a bit young for a marshal, don’t you think?” She holds up her own card and offers a sweet-too sweet to come from the same girl who was making smart comments a few minutes ago-smile in response.  
“I’m an intern at the station, just helping out today.” Ah, so that’s their excuse for toting her around. Intern. The deputy sighs and looks her up and down once more. She doesn’t even flinch, her smile still as a rock. Maybe she is a good actress.  
Dean heads over to the car, cutting off the officer’s thoughts. “You did have another one just like this, correct?”  
He sighs and gives in. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.” Dean bends down to examine the car.  
“So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam says, remembering what he had heard before. He nods, confirming his thoughts.  
“Town like this, everybody knows everybody.” Dean stands back up and walks around the car, looking for anything else that could be a clue. Jane pipes up, scribbling something down in a notepad Sam hadn’t noticed before.  
“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?” Her tone is professional, curt. She’s certainly selling her role well.  
The deputy addresses Sam with his words, refusing to answer to Jane. She shoots a glare to the back of his head in response, and Sam has to restrain a laugh. “No. Not so far as we can tell.”  
“So then what's the theory?” Her professional tone is gone and replaced with annoyance. Apparently you don’t ignore her unless you want her sass at your throat. His laugh dies in his throat, replaced by panic that this could be what gives them away. The deputy turns around and faces her, his face almost matching hers.  
“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” All three siblings have to hold back the eye-roll crawling out of them, and Dean paces over to stand behind Jane, obviously noticing the same things Sam was just worrying about. It doesn’t stop her from one last comment.  
“Well, that is exactly the kind of police work I'd expect out of you gu-” She’s cut off by Dean squeezing her arm so hard he’s almost positive it’ll leave a mark. He doesn’t really care though. Sam walks in front of his siblings and addresses the deputy with an apologetic smile.  
“Thank you for your time.” With another nod, he grabs Jane’s arm and practically drags her to the car, Dean not too far behind them. He addresses the other officers standing on the bridge with another nod smile. As soon as the three are out of ear shot, Sam turns to Jane. Before he can open his mouth she steps on his foot with a ferocity he was quite expecting.  
“Ow!” He exclaims. “What was that for?”  
“I was investigating and then-”  
“You weren’t investigating you were sassing off the police!”  
“Oh come on,” She says, throwing her hands in the air. “They don’t know what’s really going on, we’re all alone in this. If we’re gonna find Dad we’ve got to solve this ourselves!” He’s about to retort back when Dean, who was watching this all go down with an amused expression, clears his throat. He motions towards three men in suits walking towards them. Jane rolls her eyes and continues walking toward the car.  
“Agent Mulder. Agent Scully,” She addresses the FBI agents with a nod. Sam follows after her with a sigh. No wonder she got kicked out of school.  
*********  
Back in town, a young woman is pinning up posters with the all-too-familiar face of Troy, the latest victim in the case the three Winchester siblings are currently trying to solve. The three walk up, Jane leading the pack as she had convinced the other two that two random adult men would probably scare the crap out of her. Sam had to agree she was right, but only allowed it on the condition that she didn’t sass the hell out of them. She had agreed with an eye roll and a sharp look from Dean.  
“You must be Amy,” she begins, her eyes kind and polite. Jesus, she can really switch on and off at will. Amy looks up from her work, her overdone eyeshadow nearly obscuring the suspicion in them.  
“Yeah…”  
“Yeah, Troy told us about you. We're his cousins. I'm Jane, this is Dean and Sammy.” Her brow furrows.  
“He never mentioned you to me.” Without another word she turns on her heel and continued down the sidewalk. Dean rushed ahead, desperate to get his word in. Sam followed, barely noticing the massive eye roll Jane pointed at her oldest brother.  
“Well, that's Troy, I guess,” he says, punctuating it with a fake laugh. “We're not around much, we're up in Modesto.” Jane speed-walks for a second and catches up, still with that fake-ass smile she wears like a mask.  
“So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around.” Amy whips around and faces them, causing Dean to take an apologetic step back. Jane doesn’t even flinch. Another girl, this one with even more eyeliner than the other, walks up and grabs Amy’s arm, her eyes full of worry for her. And who wouldn’t? She’s being followed by two 6 foot tall men and a girl who looks like she could level a town with a glare.  
“Hey, are you okay?”  
Amy nods in response, her eyes relaxing a bit. Sam takes this as an opportunity to get his word in, keeping his tone light and gentle. “You mind if we ask you a couple questions?”  
She leads them into a nearby diner, her and the other girl-Rachel they learned-take a seat on the side of a booth. The three of them pile into the other side, nearly on top of each other. Dean starts to fiddle with the salt shaker sitting there.  
“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.”  
“He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” Sam questions, careful not to poke at any weak spots, stay neutral, keep her feeling safe. She shakes her head sorrowfully.  
“No. Nothing I can remember.” He glances around at his siblings. Dean is still fiddling with the salt shaker, but Jane is staring, enraptured by the necklace Amy is wearing.  
She continues staring as she speaks. “I like your necklace.” Amy laughs in response, examining it for a second.  
“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents with all that devil stuff. Jane laughs and rolls her eyes at the naive comment.  
“Actually, it means the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.” She covers for herself well, but not well enough. Dean shoots her a look and flicks some salt off his fingers at her.  
“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries.” Dean sighed after his words and leaned over the table.  
“Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything…” Almost instantaneously the girls glance at each other. Sam’s interest is peaked--they definitely know something.  
“What is it?” He questions, really hoping it’s something they can use and not just some weird legend these two goth girls stumbled upon. Rachel speaks first as all three siblings sit enraptured by her words.  
“Well, it's just…” she trails off, looking embarrassed to be saying these things out loud. “I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”  
“What do they talk about?” All three of them chorus at the exact same time, in a familiar rhythm and form. God, how long has it been since they talked together like that? He settles on too long. The girls evidently disagree and shoot them a strange look before Rachel continues her story.  
“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago.” Sam shoots Dean a look, but him and Jane are too into the story to notice. Amy continues, enjoying the attention that they’ve been giving her.  
“Well, supposedly she's still out there.” Sam nods, urging her to continue. “She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”  
Forever.  
Huh.  
*********  
Sam’s eyes are going numb from staring at a computer for so long. He’s on the newspaper for the city, tying in as many keywords as they can think of. Dean leans over and adds "female murder hitchhiking" to the search bar. Nothing. He leans over his lap again and replaces hitchhiking with Centennial Highway. Nothing. He can sense Dean beginning to worm his way into his lap again, and cuts him off with a frustrated grunt. “Let me try.”  
He’s quickly cut off as Dean slaps his hand and shoves him away, continuing to type. “I got it!” Jane rolls her eyes. She wheels up to them and shoves both of their chairs aside, so she’s right in front of the computer. When Dean tries to shove her away too, she just climbs onto his lap. Sam stifles a laugh at his panicked expression-Jane is literally sitting on his lap and she’s not even flinching.  
“So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” She asks, not taking her eyes off of the screen.  
“Yeah,” Dean counters. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re on my goddamn-”  
“So maybe,” She hits a few buttons and presses go. “It’s not a murder.” He glances at the screen to she that she replaced “murder” with “suicide.” She might actually be a genius after all. Only one result comes up, but it’s better than nothing. Sam shrugs and worms his way into the clump so he can see the screen better.  
“1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” He reads, scanning the article for anything. Dean leans his head over Jane’s shoulder as she continues to scroll.  
“Does it say why she did it?” He asks, no longer baffled by the fact that a 15-year-old was sitting on his lap in a public library.  
“Yeah,” Jane answers, her forehead creasing with sympathy. Her tone turns a bit darker. “An hour before they found her she called 911. Her kids were in the bathtub, she left them for a minute, came back and they weren’t breathing. Both dead. Our babies were gone and Constance couldn’t bear it, said husband Joseph Welch.”  
Sam can’t help but hiss at the sad story. Both children mysteriously dead? He’d probably jump off a bridge too. Jane stops her scrolling at a photo, her eyebrow raising.  
“That bridge look familiar to you?”  
*********  
The bridge looks different at night, but Sam can’t quite put his finger on how. It’s more haunting he guesses, but that seems to cliche. The metal looks more rusty, the moonlight shining on the sludgy river makes it look more menacing, and shadows dance everywhere. Not to mention the creaky sounds his footfalls make on the ground around him. Jane heads over to the edge and leans down, taking in the scenery. It takes physical restraint to not run over there and pull her back-she’s 15 now, she can take care of herself. Still, being a big brother never fades.  
“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” she says, holding her arms out as if she’s going to do it herself. Dean saunters over casually, but he doesn’t miss the way his hand yanks back on her collar a bit. He also doesn’t miss the bloody murder stare she gives him. A thought enters his mind.  
“So, you think Dad would have been here?” Dean and Jane look over in unison, neither really showing much care. Jane begins to pick at some rust on the railing she’s leaning against.  
“Well,” he walks back over to Sam, leaving his sister alone by the rail. “He's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.”  
“Okay, so now what?” Dean stops in his tracks, staying a few feet away from Sam. He looks puzzled, as if the question is stupid. From her perch, Jane is giving a similar expression.  
“Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.” Sam’s heart skips a beat. He really doesn’t want to do this again.  
“Guys, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”  
Jane looks up, her gaze suddenly hard and cold again, the way it gets whenever he brings up Stanford or him being away from them. He wonders if she was like this all the time when he was gone. Her voice is just as sharp as her face as she walks over to where Dean is standing, leaning against him as if he’s the railing. “Monday. The interview.” He’s beginning to wonder if she’s leaning against him because it’s convenient or because she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own without him. “Sorry, I forgot.” He can tell she didn’t forget, and she’s not sorry in the slightest. She was just hoping he forgot.  
Dean pipes up, his tone a bit jokier than the 5’8” ball of rage next to him. “You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?” His heart flutters a bit at the mention of Jessica, but he pushes it back to focus on the moment at hand.  
Sam shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe. Why not?” Because why doesn’t he deserve that? He’s still just a person, an almost normal person with an amazing girlfriend and dreams of being a lawyer and nothing should be able to stop him. Not his sister or his brother or his dad or any monster.  
“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?” Jane’s fiery eyes are back, staring at him with accusation in her eyes. Sam takes a step forward to counter it, trying not to pay attention to the way Dean’s hand crosses her chest. He doesn’t want to know whether he’s holding her back-which would make sense-or if he’s protecting her from him.  
“No,” his throat is tight with regret. “And she's not ever going to know.” Dean snorts.  
“Well, that's healthy.” He takes a few steps, effectively hiding Jane from his view. So it was the second one. He pushes back the hurt at the fact that he’s so much of a stranger to these two that his older brother doesn’t trust him around his younger sister. “You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” On that final note, Dean grabs Jane’s arm and pulls her towards the car.  
“And who's that?” Sam can’t see his face, but he can tell Dean rolled his eyes.  
“You're one of us!” He shouts over his shoulder, slowing his walk. Sam runs in front of him, so he’s the one in between Dean and Jane. Not so he can protect one of them, so he has both of their attentions. So he can make his final say in this argument  
“No.” Head high, stand your ground. “I'm not like you or you,” his finger punctuates each word. “This is not going to be my life.”  
“You have a responsibility to—”  
“To Dad? And his crusade?” Jane rolls her eyes and continues her stomping towards the Impala. “If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”  
For a moment, everything stops. Jane freezes in her tracks, turning around to see what happens, a new light to her eyes. Concern maybe? Hurt? Deans face turn from annoyance and quiet frustration to all out rage in half a second, and before Sam knows it he’s being slammed against the railing of the bridge. Jane begins walking towards them. Shouting something like stop, but Sam’s a bit too preoccupied to pay attention to what exactly is coming out of her mouth  
Dean stares at him for a second, not paying any mind to his sister’s shouts coming closer and closer. When he doesn't talk, he sounds defeated. “Don't talk about her like that.” Before he can say anything more, Jane’s there and yanking him off, pointing at the edge of the bridge furiously.  
“LOOK!”  
And there she is. Constance Welch in the flesh or ...spirit. She looks back at the three of them, frozen in something similar to fear, and then takes a step forward. Down she goes. The second she jumps off everything they were fighting about goes our the window, the only important thing being what just happened. Dean leans over the edge.  
“Where'd she go?”  
“I don't know,” is the best Sam can offer, his eyes scanning the water below for something that isn’t there. Suddenly the water becomes clearer, like there’s another light source. It could be a street light, a second moon, headlights-headlights. He whips around, seeing the Impala turned on and ready to rumble.  
“What the…” Jane begins, her face showing more confusion than fear.  
“Dea, who’s driving your car?” Is all Sam can muster up, glancing at his brother who is wearing a matching expression. Wordlessly, he pulls the keys out of his pocket and hangs them there, swaying like a windchime. Except it’s not making any noise and it’s nothing like a windchime because it’s keys to a car that is currently driving itself what the hell?  
As quickly as the car turned on, it’s moving straight towards them, barrelling forward like an unstoppable force. Without a second thought, their taking off towards the other end of the bridge, a fight that’s extremely apparent they won’t win. Sam’s feet are pounding on the ground, he can hear Dean breathing and he can see the way he hovers slightly behind Jane, as if he’s about to pick her up if it gets too close. And now it’s too close.  
Sam does the only logical thing he can think of-dive over the railing. His siblings follow his lead, but hit the water with a squelching splash.  
The idiots didn’t think to hold onto to the damn railing, and now they’re swimming in poop water.  
Sam is able to haul himself back onto the bridge as the car stops it’s motion, apparently uninterested in chasing them down and running them over. He glances down into the water-nothing  
“Dean?!” He shouts, holding back his panic. They’ll be fine, right? They’re always fine. “Jane!? Dean!” After a few more harrowing seconds of stillness a single figure arches out of the water. The figure looks around for a second, Sam’s panic mirroring on his face. Because where’s Jane.  
It was probably just three seconds, but it felt like an eternity. An eternity of him scanning the water and shouting her name, shouting over and over. And then she surfaced, just like Dean had, except her gasp was deeper, as if her lungs were bigger. He lets himself sigh in relief as Dean laughs loud and full at her appearance. Sam leans over the edge one again, no more care for what happens. He’s just happy-high on some kind of adrenaline rush.  
“You guys good?” Dean offers a thumbs up and Jane responds by cursing, both of which mean yes in his mind. After a few more seconds them lumbering around in the sludge, they were back on the bridge-dirty and dripping wet. Dean immediately goes to his car, checking it for any damage or signs of possession.  
Jane rolls her eyes at his action, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Your car all right there De?”  
Dean doesn’t pick up on her taunts. “Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” He walks away, anger practically pulsating off of him. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!” Sam laughs, a big laugh that he didn’t expect to be doing. But then Jane joins him, and she’s smiling and laughing too, and he thinks maybe, even though they fight, maybe he belongs with these two. Maybe this isn’t so bad.  
*********  
Motels were the one part of hunting Sam never missed. The shitty rooms, bad room service, unreliable hot water, all of it. Yet here they were, checking into another.  
“One room, please.” The cashier barely notices the filth his siblings are covered in, only caring for the credit card Dean had smacked down on the table. After a minute of examining it, he lifts his eyebrows and peers over the counter at the unlikely trio.  
“You guys having a reunion or something?” Uh...what?  
Jane beats him to the question before Sam can. “What do you mean?”  
“I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month.” Dad. There’s a moment of eye contact between the three. Dad was here.  
*********  
It takes about 20 seconds to pick the lock to their Dad’s room, and the entire time Sam is holding his breath. But when the door swings open, he’s left with nothing but an empty hotel room. Well almost empty. Every single wall is covered in paper-maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, sheets of paper covered in his Dad’s messy handwriting. Books are sitting haphazard on the desk, more papers are on the floor. There’s salt on the floor and shells in a circle, off symbols scribbled on the wall. It looks like a madhouse. Jane creeps over to a table and pokes at a half eaten burger sitting there, her nose crinkling in disgust.  
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, he hasn’t been here for a couple days at least.”  
Sam fingers the salt at his feet. “Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in.”  
Dean walks up to the wall and stares at a particularly detailed portion of the wall, covered in red marker and string. Jane wanders up after him, trying to make sense of it all. “What have you got here?”  
He lifts up one of the papers. “Centennial Highway victims.” Jane continues to scan it, confusion filling her voice.  
“I mean, different men, different jobs—ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?” Sam continues scanning the papers, looking for any clue to help answer the question. His eyes stop on a single post it note with sharpie scribbled on it.  
“Woman in white.” Dean turns around in time with Jane, both their faces looking even more confused than before.  
“Huh?”  
“Constance Welch, she’s a woman in white. Dad figured it out.” Both of their confusion melts away, leading to smirks and eyebrow raises. Dean eyes the victims on the wall.  
“You sly dogs…”  
Jane slaps his arm and takes a few steps towards Sam, looking at the papers in his section. “All right, so if it’s a woman in white, Dad would have burned the corpse, right?”  
“She might have another weakness,” Dean reasoned, always one to defend his father.  
“But, Dad would want to make sure,” he countered. “He would burn the body too. Jay, does the article say where her body is buried.”  
She smiles at the use of her old nickname. “No, not that I can tell. But,``she taps the article twice. “Her husband might.”  
He examines it for a second, raising his eyebrows at the age. “He’s over 60, he could be dead.” Jane rolls her eyes and points towards the door, sauntering backwards into the doorframe.  
“All right, Sammy. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up.” She walks out the door, peeping back in after about half a second. “I get the first shower!”  
Dean rolls his eyes and laughs, calling after her in a way that’s somehow ridiculously rude and also cute. “You’re a punk!”  
“JERK!” They both laugh, Dean looking around the room once more and then trying to wipe off some of the grime on his jacket. There’s a quick silence, only the brothers left in the room.  
“Hey, Dean?” He stops in his tracks and turns around, eyebrows raised in a silent question. “What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry.”  
He holds up his hand, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Hey there-no chick-flick moments.”  
Sam laughs again, big and bold. “All right. Jerk,” he complains, mimicking Jane’s nickname from earlier.  
“Bitch.” He laughs again, watching as Dean disappears out the door, probably to bang on Jane’s door until she came out. His laugh falls in his throat when he notices the photo sitting on his father’s bedside table.  
A photo. A photo of a family. A blonde woman holding a baby. A young boy with a baseball cap, looking down at the baby with a smile. A father, ruffling the hair of an older boy. It’s a family, one he recognizes.  
It’s not Sam’s family.  
*********  
Jessica’s voice. “Hey, it's me, it's about ten-twenty Saturday night—” Dean walks out of the bathroom, messing up Jane’s hair as she tries to tie it up neatly. She smacks his hand away and scowls. He puts back on his precious leather jacket and leans out the door.  
“Hey, guys. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?” Jane responds with some oddly specific burger order and a lemonade, Sam just shakes his head, to focused on the voicemail playing out of some tiny speaker into his ear.  
“Aframian's buying,” He tries once again, waving the faulty credit card through the air. Sam chuckles but declines again. With one more sigh, Dean leaves the room. Jane stays perched on one of the beds, braiding her hair methodically.  
“So come home soon, okay? I love you.” The voicemail finishes with a beep. God, Monday can’t come soon enough. He’s interuppted by Jane picking up her cellphone with a sigh.  
“What is it?” She moans, her back suddenly stiffening hen she hears whatever her borther responded on the other end. “Got it,” she replies, slamming the phone shut and grabbing some stuff from around the apartment. Sam stands up.  
“What is it?”  
“Five-oh, we gotta go.” He’s honestly a bit shocked that Dean still uses the same code words as they did years ago, but he packs up his bag without a second thought, only stopping for a second to peak out the window. All he sees is his brother being handcuffed on the back of a cop car. Shit. Jane tugs on his sleeve.  
“C’mon, let’s bounce.”  
*********  
Seeing Jane in the passenger seat feels weird, but Sam guesses that this was how it was before he came along. At least this car ride isn’t as awkward as the first ride they had together. Jane doesn’t hesitate to make conversation, and no cold shoulders are given. They decide to talk to the husband, hoping they can squeeze some info out of him. When they arrive at the chain-link fence, Sam’s hopes drop. This does not look like the house of cooperative person.  
Jane knocks and keeps a smile as the door opens to an older man. “Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?”  
He examines the pair on his stoop. “Yeah, I am.”  
A few minutes later they’re pacing down his driveway, showing him the photo from the dresser. He points out John in the photo, Jane giving her puppy dog eyes as she asks if they’ve seen him. His answer lifts a weight from Sam’s chest.  
“Yeah, he was older, but that's him.” Exhale. “He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”  
“Yeah, he is,” Jane responds, quick to confirm his cover. “We're working on a story together.”  
“Well, I don't know what the hell kinda story you're working on,” he says with a kinda paranoid laugh. “The questions he asked me?”  
“About your wife Constance?” Sam fishes, getting ready to prepare another cover.  
“He asked me where she was buried.” Joseph’s tone isn’t quite offended, but that and confusion are the most recognizable emotions there.  
“And where is that again?” Jane inquires, readying a pen to write his answer on her hand. Sam can spot at least three other things in varying levels of faded there. She was writing in a notebook 5 minutes ago, where’s that now, he wonders.  
“What, I gotta go through this twice?” He asks, evidently annoyed by the 15 year old girl bossing him around. Sam steps between them with a soft expression.  
“It’s just fact-checking. If you don’t mind that is.”  
Joseph rolls his eyes but complies, to both Winchester’s surprise. “In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.”  
“And why did you move?” Sam continues, careful not to hit a sore spot. By his facial expression he can tell he failed at that plan.  
“I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died.” well duh. Jane stops in her tracks, a thought dawning on her.  
“Mr. Welch,” she begins, amping up the politness. “Did you ever marry again?” Smart thinking Jane. See the thing with women in white is, their husbands are always unfaithful-it’s what makes them a woman in white. This would just confirm the theory.  
Joseph laghs sadly. “No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.” His accent gets thicker as the conversation continues.  
Sam pries further. “So you had a happy marriage?” He hesitates. A long, long pause-longer than someone who’s about to tell the truth would ever give. He glances down at his sister, who has obviously come to the same conclusion he has. They have a plan by the time he answers.  
“Definitely.” Sam smiles and begins his walk back to the car.  
“Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time.” Joseph sighs in relief and Jane offers him an apologetic smile. But the second she turns, she stops. Joseph’s eyes narrow when she turns back around.  
“Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?”  
His brows furrow. “A what?” Sam continues his walk towards the car, smirking at his little sisters stratagey-get inside his head, make him confess. Annoy him to the point he can’t quite take it, a 15 year olds specialty.  
“A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?” Her tone is calm, explanatory, as if she’s talking to a child. The silence after implies that Joseph is standing there, dumbfounded and scared. The image makes Sam laugh.  
“It's a ghost story,” she continues. “Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really. They're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years, tons of places-Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All different women.” There’s another pause. Jane’s tone changes, it’s more accusatory, more intense. “But all share the same story.”  
“Little girl, I don't care much for nonsense-”  
“See, when they were alive,” Jane continues, strong as before. “Their husbands were unfaithful to them.” A long pause. The air could be cut with a knife. Sam turns around now, making sure that Joseph won’t do anything stupid. Keeping a watchful eye out. He trusts Jane, but he doesn’t trust the man she’s currently accusing of cheating. “And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.” Joseph turns around, fire in his eyes. Sam takes a step forward, ready to swoop in if he’s needed. Jane doesn’t even flinch.  
“Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.”  
“You think…” the man exhales pure rage. “Little girl, you think that has something to do with...Constance?”  
Yet again, his little sister doesn’t flinch. Sam feels a rush of pride. “You tell me.” And this time, Joseph flinches.  
“I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here!” Jane finally lets some of the anger she was inevitably feeling seep on to her face. He gets right up in his face, and Sam takes a few steps forward, ready to jump in if things get too bad. “And you don't come back little girl!” He turns around and stalks away into his home. Right before the door slams, Jane lets out a final phrase in anger.  
“You call me little girl one more time I’ll punch out your teeth.”  
Jane stalks back to the car, a second later, still rolling her eyes. “So,” she prompts, giving him a quick smile. “How are we gonna get Dean out?” Sam smirks.  
“I’ve got some ideas.”  
*********  
They’re back in the impala when his phone lights up with an unknown number. He answers quickly, glancing at Jane to see if she knows who it could be. All she has in response is a shrug.  
“Fake 911 phone call? Guys, I don't know, that's pretty illegal.” Dean. They both laugh.  
“You're welcome,” Jane calls into the phone, leaning over from the passenger seat. Sam shoves her back into her spot.  
“Listen, we gotta talk,” Dean continues, his tone more serious. Jane snatches the phone out of Sam’s hand, muttering some excuse about how its ‘unsafe to call and drive.’  
“Tell me about it,” she begins, leaning back in the seat so much her spine looks like it will contract. “The husband was unfaithful, so it is a woman in white. He’s also a dick for the record,” she adds, rubbing her nose tiredly. “She's buried behind her old house, so that would have been Dad's next stop. Meet us there?”  
Dean sighs. “Jay, will you shut up for a second?” She’s quiet instantly, shooting a face at Sam-a perfect caricature of Dean-which almost makes him swerve the car because of the laughter in his chest. God, he missed that look.  
“Dad’s gone. He left Jericho.” Both of their faces fall in sync, hope thrown out the window. They were so close, goddamnit.  
“What?” Sam chokes out through the way his throat is closing. “How do you know?”  
Dean sighs again, obviuosly experiencing the same defeat the other two are. “I've got his journal.”  
Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “That makes no sens, he doesn't go anywhere without that thing.”  
“Yeah, well, he did this time.”  
“What's it say?” Sam questions, trying to ignore the aboslutely heartbroken expression on his sister’s face that she’s not doing a very good job of hiding.  
“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going.” His eyes meet Jane’s and they speak in unison.  
“Coordinates.”  
“I'm not sure where they lead yet,” Dean continues, seeming to be way less confused than Sam is at the moment.  
“I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going o-”  
“SAM LOOK OUT!” He slams on the brakes at Jane’s cry dropping the phone and causing it to end the call. Standing in front of the Impala is none other than Constance Welch-the woman in white.  
Shit.  
In another flash she’s sitting in the backseat, staring at both of them with cold and dead eyes. “Take me home,” she demands with a flat voice. Jane’s response and breathy and scared.  
“Get the hell out of our car.” With another flash the door is open and Jane is being flung to the dirt road there. Sam glances to make sure she’s okay-which she is-and motions for her to call Dean. She nods and runs off to some place she can get service.  
Constance speaks again, more anger in her voice. “Take me home!”  
“No,” Sam responds, looking at her in the rearview mirror. Her eyes narrow. Before he can say anything else or attack her, the doors are locking and the pedal is being pressed. The car jerks forward, and Sam has no control over it. This is not good.  
*********  
A few minutes later the Impala comes to a stop in front of a worn down house that Sam recognizes as Constance’s from the articles and photos. The car shuts off, and it’s only him and a ghost in the car. He’s way too out of practice to handle this alone.  
“Don't do this,” he says, not caring that his tone comes off as slightly desperate. There’s no one around to hear it anyway.  
Constance on the other hand is just staring at the house, a sad look in her eyes. “I can never go home.”  
Realization dawns on him like a wave. “You're scared to go home.” He glances back at her to get more of a read-but she’s gone. He turns back to the front and is shocked to find Constance in the passenger seat, climbing towards him seductively-all that previous sadness now gone.  
“Hold me,” Constance she whispers. “I'm so cold.” Sam is absolutely baffled by this whole situation-why is she doing this?  
“You can't kill me!” Sam argues, trying to push her away. She has now climbed into his lap and shoved him down, so he can’t move. “I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!” And it’s the truth. To even think of doing something like that to Jessica hurts him. He has never and he will never. Constance leans down to whisper in his ears.  
“You will be.”  
And then she’s kissing him, and it’s the worst. It’s disgusting, and weird, and wrong. He sends a silent apology to Jessica, hoping she can hear him wherever she is. His hands are flailing and reaching for his keys or something, but then she dissappears. The damage is done though-Sam is officially unfaithful and therefore she can kill him. Damnit.  
The stillness in the air is enough to make Sam flinch, but the sudden buring pain in his chest actually does make him flinch. He yanks his jacket open quickly, revealing five scorching holes in his chest. Constace reappears in front of him, trailing her finger over the holes. At her touch they burn like smoldering embers. Sam holds back a cry, but is startled when Constance disappears with a crack. And when she disappears he’s met with the lovely sight of his sister, standing next to his brother, aiming a shot gun at him with a wicked smile on her face.  
He sits up and slams the keys into the ignition, motioning for his siblings to get out the way.  
“I'm taking you home.”  
Sam slams on the pedal, hurtling himself, Constance, and the car into the house she looked so scared of a few minutes ago. He can already imagine Dean’s reaction to him smashing his precious baby into a house, but Sam thinks he’ll forgive him this one time.  
When the car stops-or is forced to stop-everything goes fuzzy.  
“Sam! Sam!” He can hear voices calling his name. Who is it? “You okay?” Someone-Dean-is opening the door to his side. He can open his eyes now, and he can see Dean inspecting him. Jane’s there too. Her eyes look worried.  
“Sam?” Dean asks again. Right, he asked him a question.  
“I think…” Sam responds groggily, mentally scanning himself for injuries. Nothing hurts too bad, so he figures the answer is as honest as it will get.  
“Can you move?” Jane asks. Her voice is as concerned a her eyes are. Those smile lines aren’t there now.  
“Yeah.” His voice is shaking a little bit. When he tries to move his legs it doesn’t work. “Help me?” He asks, tacking on a silent please. Jane nods and reaches her hand through the door, helping him to his feet. She’s surprisingly strong for her size.  
After they’ve all assessed each other and determined they’re okay, Sam turns his attention to Constance. She’s staring at the wall, a single photo holding all of her attention. It’s her and two children-the ones she killed. Constance looks up when she notices the trio staring at her with rapt attention. With a slight narrowing of her eyes she holds out her hand and a dresser slams them into the car, pinning them down and doing nothing to help the various bruises Sam has already acquired. The fact that they can’t move doesn’t help either.  
The lights begin to flicker hauntingly, casting tiny shadows around the now destroyed room. Constance looks around, now terrified. Suddenly, the two children from the photograph appearing at the top of the steps. They tilt their heads in sync. Water begins to pour down the stairs and all three Winchester’s struggle against the car, scared to drown while pinned to the car.  
“You've come home to us, Mommy.” And then Constance is screaming, and then she’s flickering and then she’s gone.  
Killed by her own children, like she killed them.  
“Guys,” Jane grunts, her voice strained with pain. “Help me shove off this damn thing.” They all pitch in, and soon enough they’re all free. Dean glances around the now empty room.  
“So this is where she drowned her kids.” Sam nods in response, voicing out loud what he had figured  
out while being molested in the car.  
“That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.” Jane smiles proudly up at him.  
“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” She slaps him on the check, happening to hit the exact spot where a bruise is forming. He laughs through the pain and pats her head appreacitvly.  
He slaps SAM on the chest where he's been injured and walks away. SAM laughs through the pain.  
“Can’t say the same for you kid. What were planning, shooting a ghost in the face?” She shrugs.  
“It worked though, didn’t it?” She smiles up at him. Dean interuppts the sweet moment with a threat.  
“Listen Sam,” he pivots to look at him. “If you hurt my car-I’ll kill you.”  
*********  
The music is loud, almost too loud. Sam loves it. Jane is bopping her head in the backseat to the beat, too tired to care who sees her. Dean is driving, eyes focused on the road, occasionaly glancing back at Jay or Sam. Sam has his father’s journal open to the coordinates Dean found-35-111. He’s looking on a map, scanning to try to find where their Dad went.  
“Okay,” he says, finally locating the spot on the map. “Here’s where Dad went. It’s called uh..Blackwater Ridge, Colorado.”  
Dean nods along with his words. “Sounds charming. How far?”  
Sam pauses. Does he really have to do this again? “About uh...600 miles.”  
He nods again, crunching the numbers in his head. “Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning.” Sam looks at his brother, hesitating.  
“Dean, I, um…”  
“You're not going.” Jane states from the backseat. Her face is gentler this time. She’s still mad at the situation, but the look she gives him says enough. She understands.  
“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there.” Sam explains, trying to convince his other sibling. Dean nods for the millionth time, keeping his eyes on the road. No reaction.  
“Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I’ll take you home.”  
That’s all Sam can ask for.  
“Thanks.”  
*********  
A few hours later the Impala pulls up outside of Sam’s apartment. It’s almost the same time that he left, just days later. Sam steps out of the car, breathing in the familiar air. He turns around and leans into the window, ready to say goodbye. Jane is already climbing back into the passenger seat, eager to get her spot back.  
“So,” he starts. “Call me if you find him?” They both nod, a small smile creeping onto Jane’s face.  
“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” Now Dean’s smiling too.  
“Yeah all right.” Sam begins to turn around when a voice stops him.  
“Sam?” It’s Jane, who stopped midway from rolling her window up.  
“Yeah.”  
“We made a pretty good team. The three of us.” He knows what she means. She means I’m sorry and she means I forgive you. So maybe she doesn’t hate him anymore.  
“Yeah.” With a final smile from both of them, the car window rolls up and the Impala speeds away into the night.  
Sam lets himself into the apartment, finding it dark and empty. There’s a faint hiss coming from the shower though, where Jess inevidably stands. He sighs. Home sweet home.  
There’s cookies on the counter, labeled with a note in Jessica’s flowery handwriting. Missed you, Love you! With a little heart. He grabs one up and eats it, heading back into the bedroom.  
He flops onto the bed and instantly closes his eyes. It feels really damn good to be in his own home again.  
Drip.  
Drip.  
He opens his eyes again, expecting to find a leaky pipe or something. It’s not that.  
It’s blood. Jessica’s blood. And then there’s fire.  
Sam doesn’t remember much from that night. He remembers heat. He remembers shouting a lot. He remembers Jane hugging him for the first time in a while. He remembers Dean practically carying him out of the room. He remembers seeing Dean grab Jane’s hand when she froze. He remembers smoke. He remembers the smell of burning flesh.  
He remembers nothing else.

“We got work to do.”


	2. Wendigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings-swearing, some violence, kinda a panic attack, Roy is a jerk, monsters, even more teen angst than last time
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

Jane Winchester is a tough person. She’s seen blood, she’s seen death more than she can count, she’s been seen monsters since she was five years old, the list goes on and on. The only time anything resembling concern or fear is let onto her face is when something happens to her brothers.  
So naturally she was almost as much of a mess as Sam was at the moment. Sam jerks away from where he’s leaning against the door of the car, his eyes glancing around in panic and sadness, looking for something that isn’t there and won’t be for the rest of his life. Jane looks up from her notebook and watches, wanting to do something but not knowing what. How do you fix this, how do you comfort someone who’s always comforted you?  
“You okay?” She asks in a soft voice, not wanting to startle him more. Sam glances between her expectant eyes and her brother’s eyes still glazed over in that I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it way. She knows that look all too well.  
“Yeah,” Sam breaths. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Jane nods and leans back into her seat, still not entirely convinced he’s telling the truth. Scratch that, entirely convinced he isn’t telling the truth.  
“Another nightmare?” Dean prys, his tone portraying boredom-Jane can see through it. He’s scared. He’s sad.  
Sam clears his throat and continues looking out the window. That’s a yes then.  
“You wanna drive for a while?” It’s a simple enough offer, but coming from Dean Winchester and talking about his Baby-a 1967 Chevy Impala he swears he loves more than life itself, it’s practically a marriage proposal. Sam laughs, and Jane has to restrain her own growing in her throat  
“Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that.” Dean grows sheepish.  
“Just thought you might want to,” he mutters. “Never mind I guess.” Sam glances around at the people in the car, first hitting Dean’s concerned face and then Jane’s sad eyes.  
“Look, guys, you're worried about me. I get it, and thanks, but I’m okay. Really.” Jane just nods and goes back to the writing in her lap, not in the mood to start a fight over this. Sam snatches up the map that was sitting next to her and studies it for a moment.  
“All right, where are we?” He asked, his tone overly bright and cheery.  
“Just outside of Grand Junction.” He scans the map for a second, eyes flicking past the large red X Jane had put there when they found where the coordinates led. After a few seconds of looking at that, Sam’s eyes fog over again, his head working faster than it should be.  
“You know what?” He begins, “maybe we shouldn’t have left Stanford so soon.” Jane restrains a sigh. She understands Sam is grieving and how awful and hard this must be, really she does, but they looked there for a week and there was nothing. They’ve already had this fight countless times.  
“Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing,” she explains. “If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—”  
“We gotta find Dad first,” Sam finishes, shooting her a fake smile. There have been too many of those the last few days.  
“Dad disappearing,” Dean begins, sounding almost...scared? Dean doesn’t get scared, Jane’s never seen him be scared. Maybe she should be scared. “And then this thing showing up again after twenty years...it’s no coincidence. Dad will have answers. He’ll know what to do.” And there it is. Dean’s blind trust in their Dad, the Dad that drove Sam out of the household, the Dad that had called her a “little girl” from the time she was 4 until the day he went missing. She trusted him, yeah, but he wouldn’t solve every little problem that would come their way. The three of them? They can fight their own battles. They’re unstoppable.  
Sam looks up from the map again.  
“It's weird, man,” he says, talking to no one in particular. “These coordinates he left us, to uh, Blackwater Ridge.  
“What about it?” Jane leans forward in her seat, no longer able to focus on the spiral notebook she was scribbling in.  
“There’s nothing there. Just...woods.” He sets down the map, his eyes only offering questions, no answers. “Why is he sending us into the middle of nowhere?”  
*********  
“So,” Sam begins. “Blackwater ridge is pretty remote.” he points to the 3D map sitting on the table of the table in the ranger’s station. The ridge itself is surrounded by mountains and trees, almost unreachable. He motions around it like he’s creating it himself. “It’s cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned mines all over the place.”  
Jane nods, trying to ignore her oldest brother wandering around the station and pointing out random objects. “Guys, check out the size of this bear,” he says, pointing out a random photo. It is a big bear, she has to admit it.  
“And,” Sam finishes, looking Dean dead in the eyes with an expression of exasperation. “A dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It’s no nature hike, that’s for sure.”  
“You kids aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?” Jane whips around, startled by the middle aged ranger standing there. Jane’s quick to cover.  
“Oh, no, sir, I’m studying the environment at a high school a few towns over, I’m just working on my paper. Oh,” she covers, motioning back to Sam and Dean, who offer a small wave. “These are my brothers, they’re just helping me out.  
The ranger examines the trio for a few seconds. “Bull.” Jane’s heart nearly stops beating in her chest.  
“Wh-what?”  
“You’re friends with that Haley girl, right?”  
Dean glances between his wide eyes siblings, looking for them to give him an answer. Neither of them have anything. He decides to wing it. “Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger—” He glances down at the ranger’s name tag. “Wilkinson.”  
Wilkinson sighs and rubs his hand across his face. “Well I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn’t be back from Blackwater until the 24th, so it’s not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”  
Jane glances back at her siblings, forming an idea. Dean makes eyes contact-he seems to have the exact same one.  
“So,” the ranger continues. “You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”  
“We will,” Jane says with a smile. Dean stands there for a few more seconds after, despite the lingering glances Sam is giving him.  
“Well that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?” It’s a question that can go so wrong so fast, and Jane feels her shoulders tense.  
“That is putting it mildly.” She lets out a momentary sigh of relief. Okay, initiate the plan.  
“Actually,” She begins, turning on those puppy dog eyes she learned all those years ago. “You know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date. With her own eyes…?”  
Please please please please.  
*********  
A few minutes later they’re leaving the ranger’s station, one official permit in their hands. Dean laughs and slaps Jane on the back. Sam still has that confused expression on-the one he was wearing in the station.  
“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” He asks, still having no idea as to what is going on. “And do you really need Jane to be your wingman?” They both shoot him confused expressions. To be honest, Jane is a bit offended that he thinks she’s just a wingman. She could get someone on her own if she wanted to. And so could Dean...probably.  
“What do you mean?”  
“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad.” Sam’s exasperated, he just wants to get this over with. And so does Jane, but background information is important. “I mean, why even talk to this girl?” They stop by the Impala, Sam on one side, Dean and Jane on the other.  
“I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean explains. It makes sense, it really does. But Jane knows there’s a couple more gears turning in his head. Sam senses it too.  
“What?”  
“Since when are you all shoot first ask questions later, anyway?” Jane asks, shooting him a pointed look. He ducks his head, but quickly looks back up, not willing to forfeit or stand down.  
“Since now.” Jane rolls her head and slides into the back of the Impala. She’s beginning to miss the front seat.  
*********  
Knock knock.  
The door opens to reveal a young girl-early twenties maybe. She has dark brown hair pulled up in a ponytail, and eyes that show a mixture of concern and paranoia. Dean instantly perks up, his eyebrows raising. Jane rolls her eyebrows-a hookup wasn’t the plan, but it looks like that might be where this is going  
“You must be Haley Collins,” Dean says. “I'm Dean, this is Sam, this kid here is Jane,” She shoots him a look for that addition. “We're, ah, we're rangers with the Park Service. Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.” Haley hesitates for a second, eyeing them up and down. Jane answers her question before she can ask it.  
“I’m an intern, just here to help out and learn the ropes.” She nods, seemingly believing the story. She still hesitates.  
“Lemme see some ID.” With a sigh Dean and Sam hold up the fake ID cards with fake names and fake everything. But Haley buys it, and she opens the door to let the three in. “Come on in.”  
Jane offers a quick thank you and steps in, watching as Haley takes special notice in Dean’s car. Great, now he’ll be pledging his undying love to her by tomorrow afternoon.  
“That yours?”  
“Yeah.” He’s smug about it. Sam just seems disturbed.  
“Nice car.” She walks away into the kitchen just as Dean turns around and mouths oh my god to Sam. I mean, car girl, pretty, spunky? That’s Dean’s soulmate right there. Jane just restrains a sigh and walks into the kitchen where Haley went.  
“So,” Sam begins, trying to get a read of the situation. “If Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?” Haley places a bowl on the table, straightening a few things out around the room.  
“He checks in everyday by cell,” she explains. “He emails, photos, stupid little videos-we haven’t heard anything in over three days now.” Jane has to admit that is a little suspicious. Checking in and then suddenly nothing? It’s no good whatever it is.  
“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception.” Sam offers, always one to look at all the logical options. Haley has an answer for that too though.  
“He's got a satellite phone, too.” Okay, there goes that theory. Jane takes out her notebook and starts subtly right things down. No one in the room notices.  
“Could it be that he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean questions. The other kid sitting at the table-Haley’s little brother Ben-looks up quickly. He’s got that fire in his eyes Jane gets whenever someone said Dean was a jackass or that Sam was a jerk for leaving. She knows that look.  
“He wouldn't do that.”  
“Our parents are gone,” Haley explains. “It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.” Jane almost laughs at the situation-it’s like them but inverted. Oldest big sister, younger brothers.  
“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks, his curiosity growing by the second.  
“Yeah.” Haley pulls up some photos, clicking on one. It’s a guy, dark hair, same face as Ben. Definitely their brother. “That's Tommy,” She says, pointing at the guy. She clicks around a bit more and pulls up a short video. It’s marked from being three days ago. She presses play.  
“Hey Haley,” He starts. Jane thinks his voice sounds kind. A good brother voice. Kinda like Sam’s. “Day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.” And then a shadow.  
Jane steps forward from her little corner, leaning down and getting close to the computer screen. Sam and Dean are saying something, something about heading out tomorrow and how Haley’s going too but Jane just keeps looking at that shadow.  
“Hey,” she says, standing up and motioning back to the computer screen. “Do you mind forwarding these to me?” Haley looks a bit confused but doesn’t question it.  
“Sure.”  
********  
Bars are almost always loud and crowded. And that’s exactly why Jane likes them. No one cares that she’s a teenage girl following around two adult men, no one cares that her hair is a mess, no one cares if she sits there drinking lemonade and researching something bizarre and paranormal. When Dean wants a drink, she never complains, always happy to go along and get something done. So that’s what she’s doing right now. Sam is explaining the situation, having slipped right into the mindset of a hunt, which is exactly what she hoped he would do. It would be good to get his mind off things. Things being Jessica.  
“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Jane can hear him talking, but doesn’t really listen, focusing on the computer in front of her.  
“Any before that?” Dean asks.  
“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.” Jane snorts-this is not a grizzly attack. “And again in 1959, and before that in 1936. Every 23 years, just like clockwork.” Dean nods and takes a sip of his beer. Got it!  
Jane whips around her computer so the boys can see, holding her mouse over one part of the video clip Haley sent to her. “Guys, I downloaded the video-watch this.” She scrolls her mouse slightly, letting only three frames show. That’s enough though-enough to see the warped human-like shadow cross in front of the tent. Tiny, quick, definitely not a bear.  
Dean leans in from the other side of the booth and squints his eyes. “Do it again.”  
She does, her smile growing as it continues. I mean sure, it’s freaky, but she caught this on her own! “That’s only three frames, that’s like a fraction of a second. Whatever this is, it can move. Superhumanly fast too.”  
Dean slaps Sam’s arm, who looks up offendedly. “Told you something weird was going on!”  
Sam rolls his eyes again, holding out a final newspaper. “I got one more thing. In ‘fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive” Jane winces. That’s gotta suck. Dean ponders at the article for a second before he speaks up.  
“There a name?”  
*********  
Mr. Shaw is a smoker, which is about the only thing Jane doesn’t like about him. He seems kind, he welcomes them in with almost no questions, and he doesn’t call her little girl, or even treat her like one. He sits down in an old rocking chair and motions for the three of them to sit on a nearby couch.  
“Look, rangers, I don't know why you're asking me about this,” he leans back in the chair and takes a long puff on the cigarette. “It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”  
“Grizzly?” Dean interrupts, done with his denial. “That's what attacked them?”  
“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Sam finishes. Jane decides to leave most of the talking to them, too tired to put in her word. No one ever answers her anyway, not even nice old men who offer them coffee.  
“What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?” There’s a long pause. Shaw looks like he’s considering it, even for a moment. “We knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”  
“I seriously doubt that,” he responds with a sad laugh. “Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” His face turns from quiet exasperation to all out sadness, trapped in a memory that’s barely there. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”  
Jane sits up, done with him avoiding the topic. He isn’t giving squat to them, she might as well work it out. “Mr. Shaw, what did you see?” He sighs.  
“Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like...no man or animal I ever heard.” Her brows furrow.  
“Was it at night?” He nods. Jane leans forward even more, trying to get as much as possible out of him before he regrets saying these things and stops talking. “Got inside your tent?”  
“It got inside our cabin.” She can almost feel Sam and Dean’s confused expressions. This is uh, not what they were expecting. “I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that?” Nope, Jane thinks. “I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.”  
“It killed them?” Sam asks, sympathy practically dripping off of him.  
“Dragged them off into the night.” He shakes his head. “Why it left me alive...been asking myself that ever since. Did leave me this though.” He drags down his collar to reveal three long scars-claw marks. Claw marks that look like they could’ve come from a goddamn polar bear.  
He leans forward. “There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”  
*********  
Their back at the hotel room, Jane is brushing her teeth. It’s only 9pm, but damn she’s tired. Sam and Dean on the other hand are wide awake, walking around the room. The only bonus to this is that she will 100% score a bed.  
“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors,” Dean begins, pacing. “If they want inside, they just go through the walls.”  
“So it's probably something else, something corporeal.”  
“Corporeal?” Jane asks, turning around. Her toothpaste is still sticking out of her mouth at a weird angle. “Excuse me, Professor Winchester.”  
“Shut up,” Sam says, flipping her off. She responds with a gesture of her own. “So what do you think?”  
“The claws, the speed that it moves...could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog,” theorizes Dean. “Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal,” he continues, mocking Sam’s previous word choice.  
“Which means,” Jane finishes for him, flopping onto the nearest bed. “We can kill it.”  
“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there,” Sam says, running a hand over his face. Jane sits up in the bed, confused at his sudden response.  
“Yeah?” Jane asks. “What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a giant monster that probably killed her brother?” The entire idea is ridiculous-telling a civilian about what they do. No way. Totally off limits. Sam evidently doesn’t see it that way.  
“Yeah.” Dean looks at Sam with the same expression Jane knows she is wearing.  
“Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” He throws some stuff in a duffle by the corner, preparing a day bag for the apparently official trip out tomorrow.  
“Finding Dad's not enough?” Jane sits up even further in her bed. Okay so we’re going there. “Now we gotta babysit too?” She stares at him. He meets her eyes.  
“What?”  
“Nothing.” She lays back in bed and closes her eyes.  
*********  
The guide Haley hired is a man named Roy. He really likes to frown and his footfalls are loud thunk thunks. Jane decides pretty early on she doesn’t like him.  
Currently he’s leading the way through the woods, the rest of them behind him. She can’t help but think she’s be a better guide. Dean’s trying to make small talk, but he’s not getting much out of it.  
“Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” Roy scoffs.  
“Yeah, more than a little.” Did she mention that he was ridiculously stuck-up?  
Dean shoots her a look and rolls his eyes, almost as if he knew what she was feeling. She stifles a giggle as he turns back to Roy. “Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?”  
“Mostly buck, sometimes bear.”  
Dean saunters ahead of him, shooting a watch this look back to Jane. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?” Suddenly Roy reaches out and grabs Dean by the arm, stopping him in his tracks. He frowns. Jane has to hold herself back form charging towards him and shoving him off her brother. “Whatcha doing, Roy?” He shoves Dean aside and grabs a nearby stick, shoving it into the ground angrily. Bear trap. Shit, okay.  
Roy leans directly into Dean’s face, staring him down. “You should watch where you’re stepping. Ranger.” Double shit, Jane thinks. They’re onto us.  
Dean turns around as Roy continues on, addressing himself mainly to Haley and Ben. He’s smiling nervously. “It’s a bear trap.” Smooth Dean. Smooth. They continue hiking on, Jane keeping close to Sam because he hasn’t caused any trouble yet. Haley catches up to them.  
“Okay, you didn’t pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You aren’t rangers.” Dean turns around and walks back, wanting to be a part of the conversation. “So who the hell are you?”  
Jane shoots a look at her brothers, trying to hunt that she’ll handle this. This is her forte-plus, she’s a lot less suspicious than those two.  
“Sam and Dean are my brothers, and we’re looking for our Dad,” she explains, trying to keep her tone as soft and calm as possible-her go-to for situations like this. “He might be here, we don't know. I just think that you...us. We’re in the same boat.” Haley barely reacts.  
“Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?” Jane looks down and smiles.  
“I'm telling you now, aren’t I? Better to hear it from me than those two idiots,” she says motioning up the trail to the boys of the group. “I’m doing my best.”  
Haley pauses for a second, considering the situation. Finally she speaks. “Yeah, okay.”  
Jane quirks a little smile and digs for something in her bag. “And what do you mean I didn’t pack provisions?”  
She pops a few of the M&M’s in her mouth with a wide and childish smile.  
*********  
“This is it. Blackwater Ridge.” It’s actually pretty anticlimactic. Just a little hill with some trees. Everybody in the group has seen so much better views, but Roy seems pretty proud of himself nonetheless.  
Sam peers over the hill. “What coordinates are we at?” Roy pulls out his GPS and reads it, offering a confused glance tat Sam.  
“Uh, thirty-five and minus one-eleven.” The coordinates are nearly ingrained in Jane’s mind, but now that they’re there, nothing feels different. No sense of relief, no wash of this is it; just some trees and a big hill.  
Dean wanders up to her and Sam, leaning down and talking quietly. “You hear that?” She looks around, pricking up her ears, but there’s nothing.  
“Yeah,” Sam says, and for a second Jane thinks she’s gone deaf. “Nothing.”  
Roy begins to head off down the hill, looking back at the group who have found seating places around the small clearing. “I’m gonna go take a look around.”  
Jane steps forward and holds out a hand, motioning for him to stop. “You shouldn’t go off by yourself.”  
He turns back with a sarcastic smile. “I think I can take care of myself, little girl.”  
Did she mention she really hates this guy?  
*********  
“Haley! Over here!” Roy’s voice echoes through what has been a quiet hike, breaking Jane out of her daydream. It was nice. She was an adventurer on a remote island looking for some old treasure. The type of thing Dean would tease her for, but she liked it nonetheless.  
The group runs towards his voice, and in unison they all stop in their tracks. It’s a campsite. A campsite that looks like it’s been run over by a bulldozer. Shit. “Oh my God,” Haley whispers breathlessly, her eyes wide with disbelief. Roy pokes the tent with a stick. His voice is a matter of fact and sure of himself.  
“Looks like a grizzly.” There’s a few more seconds of stillness before Haley takes off, running around and shouting her brothers name.  
“Tommy?!” She drops her backpack and begins looking through the wreckage. “Tommy!” Sam moves forward and comforts her, calming her down, quickly. He shushes her multiple times, causing her face to pucker with confusion. “Why?”  
“Something might still be out there.”  
“Sam, Jay!” Dean calls from the other side of the camp. Jane rushes over, bending down so she can see what he’s examining. Sam follows her not far behind. He’s pointing at some smudges in the dirt, like something being dragged. Like a body.  
“The bodies were dragged from the campsite,” He begins, stating what Jane was worrying about. “But here, the tracks just vanish. That's weird, right?” Jane nods and stands up, glancing around for anything else suspicious. Nothing catches her eye. “I'll tell you what, that's no skinwalker or black dog.” He finishes.  
The two brothers walk back over to Haley and begin talking to her and Ben, calming them down. Jane fishes around in her bag for the journal, hoping it will offer some answers.  
It does, but not the answers she wanted.  
Her research is cut short by screaming. A man’s voice starts yelling from the woods, calling for help. In a flash she’s off, running towards the sound, the other behind her. The yelling continues, haunting her to her core.  
“HELP! SOMEBODY, PLEASE!” After a few seconds of running they all stop, looking around. They’re in the spot where the voice was coming from, but nothing’s there. No signs of anything but a squirrel and some birds. Normal woods.  
“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley asks, glancing around for confirmation that she isn’t crazy. Jane nods and begins walking back to camp, confusion still sticking with her. What the hell was going on?  
When they get back to the camp, it’s in disarray. Things are scattered, tents are even more destroyed, and best yet, all the packs are missing. Thank god Jane kept the journal on her, almost everything else is gone.  
“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone,” Roy grumbles, sitting down on a rock and rubbing his head. Jane is about two seconds from roundhouse kicking him in the face.  
Haley turns back to her, begging her for answers. “What the hell is going on?”  
“It's smart,” Sam explains for her. Way to sugar coat it. “It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.”  
“You mean someone, some nut job out there just stole all our gear?” Roy asked, his face laced with disbelief and anger. God, that face would look a lot better if there was a bruise right-  
“You’ve figured it out, right?” Dean asks, leaning down to her ear and snapping her out of her newest daydream-this one more violent than the last. She nods, swallowing down her anger.  
“Yeah, call Sam over.” With a wave of his hand Sam is over by them, crouching with Dad’s journal in front of them. She takes a deep breath and opens the journal to the page she was reading from earlier.  
“All right, check this out.” The boys eyes narrow as they inspect the old drawing of a strange figure coupled with their Dad’s handwriting. Dean rolls his eyes.  
“Oh come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west.” Sam seems to have a different idea though.  
“Think about it Dean-the claws, the way it can mimic a human voice?” Jane hadn’t even thought of that, but there is a section that explains that. Wow, it’s really laid out for them.  
“Great,” Dean sighs, sarcasm dripping from him. He takes out his pistol and throws it on the ground softly. “Well now this is useless.” They two walk away, but Jane calls them back for one second.  
“We gotta get these people to safety.”  
“All right, listen up,” Sam shouts, him being the most believable and convincing of the group. Jane’s too young, Dean’s too cocky. “It's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated,” He finishes with a grimace.  
“What?” Haley asks, anger replacing her concern. Jane feels bad. She knows she’d be the exact same way if one of her brother’s were missing, and for a second she pictures it. Nope, she decides, not even gonna go there.  
“Kid, don't worry. Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.” Oh bullshit. Jane takes a few steps forward ‘till she’s face to face with Roy.  
“Really? If you shoot this you’re just gonna make it mad, so that little toy of yours does nothing.”  
“One, you're talking nonsense,” Roy chuckles. Jane has to physically restrain herself from hitting him. “Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders, little girl.”  
Okay that’s it. “You son-” Dean cuts her off with a hand on her shoulder, gently moving her back towards Sam. He places a hand on her other shoulder, effectively telling her to not attack. She still is tempted.  
“Listen Roy,” he begins, trying to calm the tension. Roy’s eyes stay on Jane, whose eyes are pure anger. “We’re just trying to protect you, we should never have come here in the first place.”  
Roy refocuses on Dean, his eyes almost mirroring Jane’s. “You protect me?” He scoffs at the idea. “I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you goodnight.”  
And in that moment, Jane swears she sees red. “Oh yeah?” She breaks out of Sam’s grip and stalks towards him. Neither make any attempt to stop her, evidently just as pissed off as she is. “It’s a fucking perfect perfect. It’s sure as hell smarter than you, and it’s gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid ass out of here.” Jane’s lucky he’s not very tall, or she would have to look up into his eyes.  
He laughs. “Wow, you are one crazy little girl.”  
“Yeah?!” She says, shoving him in the chest a bit. He takes a stumbling step backwards. “You ever hunt a wen-”  
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Sam cuts her off again, dragging her away before he ends up with a bruise. Jane takes a few calming breaths. They don’t do much. “Chill out everyone, it’s okay.” Very little “chilling out” happens.  
There’s a pause. Haley looks like this whole situation is a bit too much for her.  
“It's getting late,” Dean breaks. “This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”  
Haley’s brow furrows. “How?”  
*********  
The campfire is calming. The nice crackle-pop sounds and the soothing warmth has the whole group a little more calm. Dean is currently pacing around the edge copying strange symbols from the journal into the ground. Protective symbols. Haley’s watching him intently.  
“One more time, that's—”  
“Anasazi symbols,” he answers, wiping his hands on his jeans. “It's for protection. The wendigo can't cross over them.” Roy laughs, his gun propped on his shoulder. Sam, from his position next to Jane, holds his hand back silently. Jane doesn’t mind, she would rather not attack him so close to the campfire anyway. She could fall in.  
“Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy,” she bites out. Sam removes his hand and sits quietly, locked in his head like he’s been this whole time. Jane watches him, but he barely notices. God, what is going on in that head? Dean walks over to them, thinking the exact same thing.  
“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” he asks, crouching down so he’s eye level. Jane looks at him expectantly, willing him to speak.  
“Dean—”  
“No, you're not fine,” he says with a raise of his hand. “You’re all quiet and thoughtful, not speaking at all. I mean c’mon, you agreed with Jay. That never happens.” He laughs slightly, turning his head towards the fire. Finally he speaks, his voice quiet and almost apologetic.  
“Dad's not here. I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?” Jane sighs.  
“Yeah, you're probably right,” She agrees much to Dean’s confusion. “Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been up here.”  
“Then let's get these people back to town and let's hit the road!” Sam whisper exclaims, still trying to hide the conversation from the others. “Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still even here?” Wow, this is not the Sam of her childhood. Maybe it was Stanford, maybe it was Jessica, but he changed, that much Jane knows for sure. She takes out the journal and moves so she’s sitting next to Dean, looking up into Sam’s eyes.  
“This is why.” She points to the journal with a strong finger. “This book. This is Dad’s most valuable possession-everything about every evil thing is in here, and he passed it onto us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off,” Jane concludes, stating what she’s been thinking since they first arrived at that town in California and found it.  
“Saving people, hunting things. The family business.”  
Sam shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with tiredness. Jane’s a little bit disappointed. I mean, that was a damn good speech. “That makes no sense. Why doesn't he just—call us? Why doesn't he—tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?” He cuts himself off throughout his talking, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s doing himself. Dean shrugs.  
“I dunno. But the way I see it, Dad's giving the three of us a job to do, and I intend to do it.  
“Dean...no. I gotta find Dad.” Sam’s begging now, looking at both of them with pleading desperate eyes. Jane wants to hug him, but she doesn’t think it’s the right time. “I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about.”  
“Okay,” Jane reassures. “All right, Sammy, we'll find them, I promise. Listen to me. You've gotta get ready. And all that anger you’re feeling, you gotta let it go. It’s gonna kill you.” He nods, shooting her a look.  
“Like you’re one to talk about anger, you almost killed that guy a dozen times today.” She rolls her eyes and smiles.  
“I’m doing my best, okay?” SAM looks down, then up again, as if he’s talking to heaven and hell. “How do you guys do it? How does Dad do it?”  
Dean points over at Haley and Ben who are curled up by the fire. Jane smiles a bit-she’s done the exact same thing with Dean a few times. “Well for one, them. I mean, our family’s screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a bit more bearable.”  
“I'll tell you what else helps,” he continues. Jane flashes a quick smile.  
“Me.”  
Dean slaps her arm and causes her to fall on the ground. “Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I-” she shoves him back. “WE possibly can.”  
“Help me! Please!” Oh for fucks sake Wendigo, Jane thinks, standing up with an eye roll. We’re having a family moment, not the time. She stands anyway and loads the gun in her back pocket. “Help!”  
Sam turns on his flashlight and whips it around the camp while Dean calms everyone down for about the 100th time that night.  
“It's just trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put.” Roy chuckles darkly.  
“Inside the magic circle?” There’s some more shouting and then growling from the trees surrounding them. Roy cocks his gun and aims it to where the noise was coming from. He looks a little scared. “Okay, that’s no grizzly,” he admits.  
“No shit sherlock,” Jane mutters, shooting him a look. She can see Sam laugh slightly.  
Haley pats Ben’s shoulder. “It's okay. You'll be alright, I promise.” Just as she says that the bushes rustle and somthing rushes past, causing her to yell slightly. Jane can feel Dean’s hand on her shoulder, ready to yank her back at any moment’s notice.  
“It's here.”  
Roy follows it with his gun, firing off a few shots. A pained grunt comes fromt he trees, and Roy calls out excitedy. “I hit it!” He runs off and the entire group goes into a frenzy.  
“Roy, no!” Dean calls, chasing after him. “Roy!” Jane turns back to Haley and Ben before chasing after him, watching as Sam heads out into the dark forest.  
“Don't move,” she demands, tossing her a large stick. “Fire will drive it off.” Haley nods, as if she’s offering good luck and Jane takes off.  
“It's over here! It's in the tree!” Roy calls just as Jane catches up with her brothers. Jane is about to flat out slap him in the face when something beats her to it.  
It moves fast, it hits hard, and it looks like a twisted human corpse. Jane doesn’t see it, she only knows that it grabs onto Roy’s neck and it makes a loud snap! Sound.  
When Sam turns the flashlight on, he’s gone. Roy’s gone.  
*********  
Theyre back at the campsite now, trying to keep Haley and Ben as calm as possible. The former is struggling to wrap her mind around the situation, rubbing her temples like she’s about to get a headache.  
“I don’t...I mean, these kind of things,” she starts. “They aren't supposed to be real.”  
Jane sighs and offers a look she hopes is comforting, but she’s honestly to tired and stressed to garuntee it’s any of those things. “I wish I could tell you differently.”  
“How do we know it's not out there watching us?” Ben speaks up, speaking for the first time since they first met them at Haley’s house. Dean raises his eyebrows and answers.  
“We don’t. But we’re safe for now.  
Haley’s final question is the biggest of all. “How do you know about this stuff?” Jane glances at each of her brothers, a fond smile lining her features.  
“It kinda just runs in the family.” Sam walks over from where he’s been reading the journal, adressing all of them with a newfound sense of authority.  
“We’ve got half a chance in the daylight,” he explains. Haley stands up, determination lining her features. “And I for one want to kill this evil son of a bitch.” Jane smiles and wanders over to him.  
“Well you know I’m in.” Sam smiles down at her and then moves back to being a leader, showing the page in Dad’s journal Jane had found to Haley and Ben.  
“‘Wendigo’ is a Cree Indian word. It means ‘evil that devours’.”  
“They're hundreds of years old,” Dean interuppts. “Each one was once a man. Sometimes a Native American, other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.”  
“How's a man turn into one of those things?”  
Jane begins picking at the ground with her foot-this is her least favorite part of the story. “It's always the same-suring some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from everything. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.”  
“Like the Donner Party,” Ben speaks up. Jane offers a smile. She’s impressed by his knowledge.  
“Yeah, exactly. They probably became Wendigo’s themselves, actually.”  
“Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality.”  
“If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human...thing,” she describes, trying to remember what the Wendigo looked like the one time she had seen it. Thing, she decides, is the right way to describe it. “You're always hungry.”  
“So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?”  
Dean sucks air in between his teeth. “You ain’t gonna like it  
Haley puffs out her chest and grits her teeth. Jane can tell she doesn’t want to know, but she has to, Or at least she feels like she has to. “Tell me.”  
“More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, it stores them,” he admits. “So it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there.”  
Haley sucks in a shuddering breath but continues standing tall. Brave girl, Jane thinks. “And then how do we stop it?”  
“Well, guns are useless, so are knives. Basically—” Jane tosses him a bottel of lighter fluid to her oldest brother. “We torch the sucker.”  
*********  
Dean is leading the way into the woods, Molotov cocktail in hand. It’s one of the weirder weapons they’ve used to hunt monsters, and Jane was looking forward to using it. A few threats later, Jane was following the group-weaponless.  
She glances around and nearly stops in her tracks. The tree next to her is covered in blood and claw marks. “Dean, Sam,” she calls. They hurried back to her, seeing her panicked face and shaky legs.  
“What is it?” Dean asks, but the sight of the trees around them answers his question quick enough. Sam’s face falls noticeably and he pulls the two closer, whispering quietly.  
“Y’know, I was thinking,” he begins. “The claw prints are so clear and distinct. They were almost too easy to track. Like someone-”  
“Like it was trail,” Jane finishes.  
Grrrr…  
Everyone in the party whips around quickly, looking for the source of the noise. Jane glances at Haley, making sure she’s still okay. She seems fine, but there’s something on her shirt.  
“Haley,” she begins. Another drip. “Haley there’s something-” CRASH! Down from the tree comes a body-Roy’s body, his neck bent at a strange angle.  
The group is running before they can even process what they’ve seen. Jane sticks close to Dean, only running on instinct right now-and her instict says to stay with safety, and Dean is safety. She can hear shouting and she thinks it’s Sam, and she almost stops because what if he’s hurt but then Dean grabs her wrist and is pulling her along so she’s running again and then she trips and she looks up and-  
Dean’s gone.  
God no.  
*********  
Jane thinks she’s forgotten how to breathe. I mean, she definitely can. She’s inhaling and exhaling almost regularly, but she can’t breathe. Her lungs feel crushed becuase where the hell is he. Dean’s only been missing for a few hours, but she just, she doesn’t know, she can’t-  
“Jane,” Sam says, breaking her out of her trance. “It’s gonna be okay.”  
Suddenly Jane can breathe again, and it’s not because she feels better-it’s because she’s mad. “Oh yeah, it’s definitely going to be okay.” She’s probably attracting so much attention right now, but she doesn’t care. “Yeah, everything’s gonna be fine, because my brother-y’know the one that actally took care of me?! Is missing! He’s been taken by a freaking wendigo that eats it’s victims and he’s just gone and-”  
Jane takes a deep breath. Yeah, she said some sucky shit there but she doesn’t care. “He might die Sam! He’s all I have!” She feels something warm on her cheek. “I need him Sam, I can’t-” Her legs collapse. Sam’s talking now, and she doesn’t have the strength to yell back at him.  
“Jane, Jay, listen.” She doesn’t want to listen she wants to find Dean. “It’s gonna be okay, really. We’ll find him.” The air in her lungs is moving too fast, it’s making weird noises. She can’t breathe she can’t breathe shecan’tbreathe-  
“I need him,” is all she can gasp out.  
“I know,” Sam says. He’s holding her arms, she standing now. It doesn’t feel right to stand, where is he. “I know, and you’ll get him back, okay? Until then you have me.” Oh bullshit.  
“You’re gonna leave again.” She’s standing on her own now.  
“No,” and for a few seconds Jane believes him. “No, I’m not Jay.”  
Once Jane is breathing normal again, they head back to the group. Haley is back to rubbing her temples and Ben is sitting next to her, evidently pretty stressed as well. “If it keeps it’s victims alive, why did it...kill Roy?”  
“Honestly?” Sam answer, scratching his head. “I think because Roy shot at it, pissed it off.”  
Haley cocks her head-she sees something. “Hey,” she points at the ground, where something small and colorful lies. M&M’s.  
“Dean, you son of a bitch.”  
*********  
The trail of M&M’s leads straight to a mine, which is just as creepy as it sounds. There are spiderwebs everywhere and somethings always dripping and it always sounds like each step Jane takes will collapse the entire thing. She only keeps going because she knows Dean is down that hallway, her brother is down there and he needs her help.  
Growl. In a flash Jane grabs Ben as Sam grabs Haley, pressing them against the wall. Jane clamps a hand over Ben’s mouth, flashing him an apologetic smile as Sam turns off his flashlight. The creature walks past, it’s heavy breathing being their only indication. She still can’t see it, just tell that it’s tall and not human. As soon as it’s gone Jane turns to Ben and whispers “Hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay.” She doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling as this is pretty normal to her, but she knows he’s panicked. He nods, his eyes raising to the end ofthe shaft they’re in. He points.  
“Skulls.” Jane looks up-he’s right. There’s a pile of human skulls. Which means-  
“We’re close to his lair!” Sam whisper shouts, urging the group forward. When they round the corner they find a small area. A tiny sliver of sunlight is coming down the ceiling, illuminating a bloody floor-spooky-and some hanging bodies. One of which is her brother.  
“Dean!” She doesn’t care about how loud she’s being anymore. She’s moving to him as fast as possible, grabbing his face and shaking it. “Dean, c’mon.” He doesn’t seem to seriously injured, although there’s a few scrapes here and there. “Dean!” She tries one more time. His eyes flutter open. Jane’s sigh of relief is probably as loud as a gunshot.  
“Hey, you okay?” She asks, beginning to work on the knots holding him up. She can faintly see Sam and Ben and Haley looking around behind her, but that’s insignificant.  
“Yeah,” he respondes, wincing slightly at Jane’s motions. She whispers a silent apology and continues her actions. “Where is he?” Jane shakes her head.  
“Doesn’t matter.” She just wants to focus on him for a minute.  
“Jay, I’m okay. Where is he?” Of course he figured it out. She helps him sit down on the cold cement floor, balancing his weight. She can hear Haley and Ben talking to Tommy now. Good, they saved him. Mission part 1 complete.  
“Gone for now,” she mumbles, leaning into Dean for a second. Just for a second though, because she got him back, so there’s no need to be worried. Just because she wants to make sure he’s okay, no other reason. He wraps him arms around her for one second too.  
Sam never pinned Dean for a softie or one to accept physical affection, but apparently when it comes to Jane that rule goes out the window. Because for just a second he sees Dean, injured, hugging a stressed Jane.  
Once Dean separates Jane (causing her to be signifcantly less stressed) he motions over to some stuff piled in the corner. “Flare guns,” he explains with a pained grunt as he stands up. “They’ll work.” Sam nods and grabs some, tossing one to Jane as she helps Dean stand. Growl. The man Jane assumes is Tommy winces. She stands up straighter, all that Winchester confidence back in her system.  
“Looks like someone's home for supper.”  
Haley’s eyes are worried as she looks back at them. “We’ll never outrun it.” Dean nods and glances around at this ragtag injured crew of survivors. His eyes linger on Sam.  
“You thinking what I'm thinking?”  
Sam nods grimly, and suddenly Jane doesn’t like where this is going. “Yeah, I think so.”  
“No,” she says, turning to her brothers. Her lungs are tightening again. “I do it, not you, you’re hurt.” Dean looks at her for a second, just looks at her. Stares her down as if he’s trying to get her to forfeit. But she doesn’t.  
“Fine. But be careful, and don’t die or I’ll kill you.”  
Haley, now supporting Tommy with the help of Ben, has been watching the whole conversation confusedly. “Jane, what are you gonna do?” She turns to her and smiles. Then she turns back to the open mineshaft.  
“Dinner time, you son of a bitch! I’m here, come eat me jerk!” She continues walking down the hallway, shouting the whole time. Get it’s attention, keep it’s attention, lead it to Sam and Dean. Soon enough she hears growling and her heart starts beating faster.  
“C’mon,” she whispers to herself between taunts. “You got this.” And then she sees it. It’s not like she thought it would look, it’s worse. It’s skin is warped and twisted like it was burned off and thrown back on, and it stands atleast a foot taller than Sam. It’s eye sockets are sunken in, and it’s fingers are long and pointed. In short, it’s fucking terrifying. And it walks right past her.  
“Hey!” She shouts, chasing after it. “Hey, I’m here!” But he’s going right down the hall towards the escaping group, and it doesn’t seem to care about her. “HEY!”  
It’s feet away from the group when she finally gets it to turn around. “ASSHOLE!”  
And she shoots it right in the stomach with her flare gun. It’s down in a few seconds, after glowing like a freakin glowstick for a few more. And then it’s gone-dead.  
“Not bad, huh?”  
*********  
They get back into town when the sun starts to set, and Haley insists they call an ambulance or the parademics for Tommy’s sake. They do, and Jane convinces Dean to get some help with the cuts on his face. Police officers start to talk to Ben and Sam tugs on Jane’s sleeve, motioning that they should get out of there before they try to ask them questions too.  
“And the bear came back again after you yelled at it?” Is what the officer is currently asking Ben. Jane feels bad for him, he looks like he needs a nap.  
“That's when it circled the campsite. I mean, this grizzly must have weighed eight hundred, nine hundred pounds.” He turns to look at her and she offers an appreciative wink for him staying with the story.  
She turns back to the Impala, where Dean is currently talking to Haley. She can see her roll her eyes and she assumes that he said a cheesy pickup line. She begins walking towards them, stopping only when she kisses him on the cheek. Okay maybe the cheesy pickup line worked.  
“Thanks, Sam. Jane,” She says as she walks away flashing her another smile. She hops onto the hood of the impala, leaning her head onto Dean’s like its a chinrest. He shoves her off and sighs.  
“Man, I hate camping.”  
“Me too.”  
“Me three.” There’s a pause as all three of them watch the ambulance pull away, Tommy in the back. Jane speaks up first.  
“Sam, you know we're gonna find Dad, right?”  
“Yeah, I know,” he says. He smirks and steals the keys from Dean’s pocket before he can protest. “But in the meantime? I'm driving.”  
So they drive off into sunset, Sam driving.


	3. Dead in the Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings-death, drowning, violence, language, explicit werewolf on human sex,
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

Staring at obituaries in the morning paper and circling some probably isn’t the least suspicious thing Dean could do, but hey, what else is he gonna do to find a new case. A few look weird, but nothing catches his eyes yet. No crazy unsolved murders, no mysterious suicides, no incredibly gory “impossible” acts of violence-just your average sunday morning paper. His eyes land on one with a picture of a pretty girl.  
Sophie Carlton, he reads. The Carlton family is sad to announce the death of theyr beloved daughter in a tragic swimming accident. Sophie Carlton, 18, was having her blah blah blah Lake Matinoc WI blah blah blah suddenly- clank!  
Dean looks up, about to be annoyed with who ever bumped into his table and almost spilled his coffee, but he’s met with a different sight. A very pretty waitress whose name tag reads Wendy smiles down at them. He bites down on his pen.  
“Can I get you anything else?” He flashes that award winning Dean-Winchester-smile that almost always gets the girl and it’s about to work when-  
“Just the check please.” Sam. See, Jane knows to stay out of it. She knows to sit back and let Dean flirt because it’s just what he does. She’ll cut him off if it becomes weird but otherwise she just sits back and watches him, that smirk on her face like always. Sam on the other hand, is a massive douche.  
Wendy nods curtly at Sam and walks away. Dean drags a hand down his face. “You know, Sammy, we are allowed to have fun once in a while.” He motions back to Wendy and her ridiculously short shorts. Jane snorts. “That's fun.”  
Sam shakes his head and Jane keeps up that smirk and he realizes he’s not going to win this one. He hands over the newspaper, an angry red circle surrounding the obituary he was looking at. “Here, take a look at this, I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago.”  
Sam’s brow furrows. “A funeral?”  
“Yeah, it's weird,” he admits, still a bit confused. Why on earth would you bury a box if the thing you’re burying isn’t in it?  
Jane shrugs. “Maybe for closure. Y’know, army wives do it sometimes and stuff like that.”  
“Closure?” Sam says, leaning back in his chair like he doesn’t believe it. “What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them.” Aaaaaand there it is.  
He leans forward, balancing Sam’s chair leaning habit out. “Something you want to say to me?” He’s expecting Sam to drop it, or maybe even Jane to get between them, but she doesn’t, focusing on the invisible dirt under her nails.  
“The trail for Dad. It's getting colder every day.”  
“So what do you want us to do?” Jane prompts. She may be sitting next to Sam, but it’s clear whose side she’s on. This is not a fair fight and it’s cruel to Sam. But he’s wrong so…  
“I don't know!” He throws his hands in the air. He’s desperate. “Something, anything.”  
“You know what? I'm sick of this attitude.” Jane makes a face and looks down, trying not to laugh. Later she’ll say something like you sounded like Dad. “You don't think I wanna-” Jane looks up. “We wanna find Dad as much as you do?”  
“Yeah, I know you guys do, it's just—”  
“I'm-we’re the one-ones whose been with him every single day for the past four years, while you've been off to college going to pep rallies.” Jane looks like she’s 20 seconds away from jumping in, so he wraps it up quick. “We will find Dad, but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there. Okay?”  
Sam rolls his eyes and shifts even farther into his chair, slouching like a depressed three year old. Jane looks up and smiles, desperately trying to change the subject. “All right, Lake Manitoc. Hey!”  
*********  
When Dean knocks on the Carlton’s door, he expects a grieving mother wearing all black, but instead he gets a teenage boy that looks just a bit worse for wear. He hides his confusion and goes with the information he read.  
“Will Carlton?” He prompts.  
He nods, scanning him and the two people standing behind him. Dean wills them to be quiet. “Yeah, that's right.”  
“I'm Agent Ford. This is Agent Hamill. That’s Debbie Fisher, she’s an intern just helping us out, we’re with the US wildlife service.” Please don’t be a Star Wars fan, please don’t be a Star Wars fan, please please-  
“Alright sure.”  
Will leads them into his backyard and gestures at the lake. There’s a man sitting on the dock, staring out at the lake like it’s the answer to all their problems. Which it might be, depending on how likely it is that there’s something out there that killed his daughter. Will gestures out to the lake as Jane begins scribbling in her little notebook.  
“She was about a hundred yards out,” he says. His tone turns darker and he looks down. “That’s where she got dragged down. Sam steps forward.  
“And you're sure she didn't just drown?”  
Will glares at him like he just asked if birds could fly. “Yeah. She was a varsity swimmer.” Well that certainly changes things a bit. “She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as in her own bathtub.”  
“So no splashing?” Jane questions. She has her “polite-no-nonsense” voice on, the one she reserves for talking to people who need therapy on cases. Dean would never tell her, but he hates that voice. It sounds too much like Mom. “No signs of distress or anything?”  
“No, that's what I'm telling you.”  
Sam speaks again. “Did you see any shadows in the water? Maybe some dark shape breach the surface.” He shakes his head and frowns. He’s getting suspicious now.  
“No. Again, she was really far out there.”  
“You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?” Dean asks, hoping there’s some kind of corporeal-to quote Sam-monster they’re dealing with here. Looks like he’s out of luck.  
“No, never. Why?” He looks from person to person, panic covering his face now. “Why, what do you think is out there?” Oh I don’t know, a midwestern loch ness monster maybe?  
“We'll let you know as soon as we do,” Jane answers with a smile, heading back to the car. Dean’s about to follow, knowing that if Jane thinks they have enough they probably do, when Sam stops. His eyes are trained on the man on the dock, watching him quietly.  
“What about your father?” He asks, looking at Will with those puppy dog eyes almost no one can resist. “Can we talk to him?” Jane’s eyebrows are raised and she’s furiously motioning with her hand for him to drop the subject and come back to the car.  
Will glances between Sam and his father for a second, indecision and pain covering his face. “Look if you don’t mind...he didn’t see anything and-”  
“We understand,” Jane interrupts apologetically and grabs Sam’s elbow and leads him back to the car. “Thank you for your time.”  
*********  
The police station is the next stop. The sheriff their talking to is the type of guy Jane would describe as “a total ass.”. Dean’s ready to jump up and restrain her in a second if he happens to call her a little girl, he’s learned that much from four years of her.  
“Now, I'm sorry,” Jake begins, eyes peering at the three of them. “But why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?”  
“You sure it's accidental?” Jane says with a tiny eye roll. “Will Carlton saw something grab his sister.” Oh, so we’re lying now.  
Jake leans forward slightly, but not enough to give away that he’s interested. “Like what? There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person, unless it was the Loch Ness Monster.” Jane covers her mouth, and out of the corner of his eye Dean can see Sam shoot her a look.  
“Yeah right,” Sam adds with a fake laugh.  
Jake continues, doing the normal civilian act of rationalizing the situation away. “Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks. Still, we dragged that entire lake.” His face becomes more somber. “We even ran a sonar sweep just to be sure, and there was nothing down there.”  
“It’s weird, though.” Dean gestures casually and picks at something on the sheriff's desk, trying to seem disinterested. He figures he just looks like he’s an embarrassed kid, which works too he guesses. “I mean, that's, that's the third missing body this year.”  
“I know!” Jake says. “These are people from my town. These are people I care about.” Jane meets his eye, the fake sympathy from earlier now real. This girl has a heart of gold, Dean thinks. “Anyway…” he continues with a sigh. “All this, it won’t be a problem much longer.”  
Sam’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”  
“Well, the dam, of course.”  
Shit, okay cover it, stay calm.  
“Of course, the dam!” he laughs, as if he’s stupid. Cause he is of course. “It's, uh,” shit shit shit shit “it sprung a leak!”  
“It's falling apart, and the feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway,” Dean nearly collapses in relief when Jake doesn't pick up on his fumble. Sam and Jane raise their eyebrows at him almost in sync. He shoots them a silent shut up. “In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either. But as Federal Wildlife, you already knew that.”  
“Exactly,” Dean says with a confident smile. Tap-tap.  
He turns around to see a young woman-a very pretty young woman-knocking on the door. She leans it open slightly, peering her head in. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”  
Dean’s standing in a second, ready to get out of there and be a gentleman for once because woah. She smiles at the lack of answer and begins to close the door again. “I can come back-”  
“Gentlemen,” Jake interrupts. Dean can feel Jane’s annoyance at not being addressed from the other side of the room. “This is my daughter.” Ah, policeman’s daughter. That makes this a bit more difficult but hey, Dean’s never one to forfeit a challenge. He holds his hand out.  
“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Dean.” She smiles back politely.  
“Andrea Barr, hi.”  
“They’re from the Wildlife Service. About the lake,” Jake explains.  
Andrea raises her eyebrow and it looks like she’s about to talk when a little boy wander into the room. He’s got shaggy hair, like Sammy’s but blonde, and he’s wearing a green sweater. He clings to Andrea’s-who he assumes is his Mom-leg. He bends down. Points with the kid means points with the mom.  
“Hey there. What's your name?” Dean looks at the boy expectancy for a minute before he turns around and walks out the door silently. Andrea follows, equally silent. Well, he tried.  
“His name is Lucas,” Jake finishes. Dean follows the two out with his eyes, watching as Andrea hands him a box of crayons. He looks...troubled. Quiet, too still. Almost like when-  
“Is he okay?” Sam asks, concern layering his voice.  
Jake sighs. “My grandson's been through a lot. We all have.” He adds. He stands and wanders towards the office door, obviously saying that the conversation is over. “If there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know.” He walks into a backroom before Dean can ask the question he was wondering about, but Dean gets an idea. He turns to Andrea.  
“Thanks. You know, now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?” He knows it was Jake that made the offer but since he’s gone…  
“Lakefront Motel. Go around the corner. It's about two blocks south.” Her tone is curt. God, he’s really not doing too hot today. Sam and Jane linger by the door, waiting for him to wrap things up here.  
“Okay—would you mind showing us?” She laughs, a bright bubbly laugh he likes and she raises her eyebrows.  
“You want me to walk you two blocks?”  
“Not if it's any trouble.” Andrea considers it, glancing back at the two by the door. Jane is kicking it now, making quiet clanging noises.  
“No, it’s not.”  
*********  
“So,” Dean begins. Strolling down the street with a cute girl is a little more awkward when you can already see where you’re going, have two other people walking behind you and staring, and have absolutely nothing to talk about. “Cute kid,” he tries.  
Andrea nods. “Thanks.” That’s...what? What kinda answer is thanks?  
“Kids are the best, huh?” He tries again. She doesn’t respond, the only noise being Jane’s wheeze at his comment. They walk in silence for a few more seconds before reaching the motel, a cheap place called the Lakefront Motel.  
“There it is. Like I said, two blocks.” Sam nods a thank you. Andrea turns back to Dean, her face full of something that looks almost like-pity?  
“Must be hard, with your sense of direction.” Okay, now she’s insulting him? What- “Not being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” She walks away, leaving an open mouthed Dean and two laughing younger siblings alone. “Enjoy your stay!”  
“'Kids are the best'?” Sam mocks. “You don't even like kids!”  
“I love kids,” he defends, walking past him and making sure to shove his shoulder into his.  
“Name three children that you even know.”  
“As a matter of fact-”  
“AND IT CAN’T BE ME!” Jane interrupts.  
“Oh c’mon you’re basically-”  
“I’m fucking 15, jackass.”  
*********  
Jane looks up from her laptop where she’s been scanning for more information. “So there's the three drowning victims this year.”  
“Any before that?” Dean asks, going through his clothes. Most are dirty, some are too small, and there’s a few missing flannels. He suspects Jane.  
“Uh, yeah,” she responds, the sound of her clicking filling the tiny room. “Six more over the past thirty-five years. Bodies were never recovered. If there’s something out there, it’s picking up it’s pace.  
“So, what, we got a lake monster on a binge?” He continues, tossing an old led zeppelin shirt onto the bed. Sam looks up from where he's unpacking, waving his hands around animatedly.  
“This whole lake monster theory, it, it just bugs me.”  
Jane and Dean speak in unison. “Why?  
“Loch Ness, uh, Lake Champlain,” he continues, his hands still waving around the air like he’s swatting at flies. “There are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts, but here, almost nothing.” Jane nods along with his words, following his logic. “Whatever it is out there, no one's living to talk about it.”  
Dean nods and heads over to Jane, looking over her shoulder at the article. His eyes catch on a name. “Wait, Barr, Christopher Barr. Where have I heard that name before?”  
“Uh, Christopher Barr,” Jane says. “He was the victim in May.” She clicks around on the page, searching for his name specifically. A picture pops up containing a familiar face. Lucas.  
“Oh.” Jane pulls back from the computer as if she’s been slapped. “Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband and Lucas's father. Apparently he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned. Two hours before the kid got rescued.” She closes her eyes for a second and leans back, and Dean almost wants to slap her, to wake her up from the nightmare she’s living. From Lucas’s nightmare. No one should have to live through that.  
Sam scratches his head. “Maybe we have an eyewitness after all.”  
*********  
Andrea is sitting alone on a park bench when they find her. Dean tries to act as normal as possible, as if he’s not stalking the pretty girl he may or may not think is absolutely adorable for the sole sake of talking to her 5 year old son. “Can we join you?”  
She looks up, taking in the three people hovering over her. “I'm here with my son.”  
“Oh,” Dean responds, trying to feign surprise. “Mind if I say hi?” Before Andrea can answer he heads over, leaning down next to Lucas. He’s drawing again, scribbling something he can’t quite make out with fat crayons. Jane used to do this. Before she wrote she would draw, using the pieces of construction paper to tell her stories. She might not be a kid now, but she was one then, and he knew how to talk to her. Just do that.  
“How's it going?” He starts. He doesn’t respond. Dean tries again, picking up one of the little green army men that’s sitting on his little artists desk. “Oh, I used to love these things” He makes shooting noises and dances them around like there’s an imaginary battle going on. The goddamn kid doesn’t even look up. “So…” Dean tries for the third time. “Crayons is more your thing? That's cool. Chicks dig artists.” Little Jane would fall over with laughter at his comment. Lucas is completely focused.  
Dean turns his attention to the stack of already-finished drawings on the desk, pleasantly surprised at how good they are. I mean, Lucas is no Picasso, but he’s better than his kid sister was. “Hey these are pretty good,” he compliments, picking up one of a large red and green dinosaur. “You mind if I sit and draw with you for a while? I'm not so bad myself.” He picks up one of the orange pieces of paper and a crayon, ready to scribble something down.  
“You know,” he begins, “I'm thinking you can hear me, you just don't want to talk. I don't know exactly what happened to your dad, but I know it was something real bad. I think I know how you feel. When I was your age, I saw something.” Dean pauses, trying to keep his own emotions in check. C’mon, it was forever ago, you can deal with this. “Anyway. Well, maybe you don't think anyone will listen to you, or, uh...or believe you. I want you to know that I will.” Radio silence. Jesus, this kid’s really persistent. He gets an idea. “You don't even have to say anything. You could draw me a picture about what you saw that day, with your dad, on the lake.” More silence. “Okay, no problem,” Dean finishes, adding the finishing touches to his new work of art. “This is for you.”  
It’s just stick figures, but anyone could see the personality between each person. “This is my family.” He explains. “That’s my dad,” He starts, pointing to the tall guy with a beard. “And that’s my mom,” he continues motioning to the blonde woman with the triangular blue dress. Real art here. “That’s my geek brother there,” The tallest figure with some over exaggerated hair, “And that’s my baby sister.” The stick he points at is nearly half of the size of the rest, with some crazy golden stuff surrounding her head like a halo. “And that’s me,” He finishes, pointing to the one in the middle. The “Dean” is the only one with no personality-just ageneric stick figure, crayon smile and all.  
“All right, so I'm a sucky artist,” He admits with a small chuckle. “I'll see you around, Lucas.” Dean heads back to the bench and starts to overhear his siblings and Andrea’s conversation. She’s smiling slightly, meaning she hasn’t sent them away. That’s progress.  
“Lucas hasn't said a word, not even to me. Not since his dad's accident.”  
“Yeah, we heard,” Dean buts in. “Sorry.” And he really is.  
“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asks, his eyes staing on Lucas, who is now working on another drawing, this one with a red crayon on a yellow piece of paper.  
“That it's a kind of post-traumatic stress,” She explains. Jane nods sadly, her eyes softening.  
“That can't be easy. For either of you,” She says, placing a delicate hand on Andrea’s shoulder. She nods and offers up a smile, as if she’s the one comforting Jane.  
“We moved in with my dad.” The sheriff, Dean remind himself. “He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw…”  
“Kids are strong,” Dean reminds her, sharing the knowledge he’s picked up over the years. Watching two kids grow up by his side has taught him a thing or two. And then there’s his own personal trauma, but that’s not as important. “You'd be surprised what they can deal with.”  
“You know, he used to have such life,” Andrea continues, her eyes trained sadly at Lucas, who is inspecting his latest art. Dean can’t quite make it out from where he’s standing. “He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—” And suddenly Lucas is by her side, having moved at a lightning fast speed over to her. “Hey sweetie.” Andrea greets, her voice instantly turning into a mother’s.  
Lucas holds his small arm out to Dean, the yellow paper hanging from his hand. He doesn’t speak, just hands him the picture and walks away. It’s a picture of a house. It looks familiar, but Dean can’t quite place where it came from.  
“Thanks. Thanks, Lucas.”  
*********  
Sam was out on a coffee run, leaving Jane and Dean alone in the motel room. Dean’s current pastime was throwing pillows at Jane while she tried to write. It was surprisingly entertaining. Without warning the door slams open, Sam handing them a coffee and beginning an out of breath rant.  
“So, I think it's safe to say we can rule out Nessie.”  
Jane looks up from her notebook. “What do you mean?” Sam sits down on the bed she’s currently occupying, making it dip under his weight.  
“I just drove past the Carlton house,” He pauses, gasping in air. Jesus did he run back? “There was an ambulance there.” Dean sits up, his interest piqued. “Will Carlton is dead.  
“He drowned?” Dean asks as Jane’s head falls into her notebook.  
“Yep. In the sink.”  
Jane looks up again, her grief and guilt turing into confusion. “What the hell?” She sits up quickly and begins digging through her stack of lore books, always quick to get the research done. “So you're right then, it’s not a creature. It’s something else.”  
“Yeah, but what?” Dean questioned, still stumped as to how any of this makes sense. He just wants it to be over, just wants this town to be average again so that Lucas...everyone can be safe.  
“I don't know,” Jay confesses with a little shrug. “Water wraith, maybe?” She flips the pages of an old red leather bound book, the actual paper so old it makes crackling noises. “Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water…” She trails off, her eyesbrows doing that thing she does when she’s figured something out. Up and then down while her eyes widen. The Jane Eyes (patent pending). “Water that comes from the same source.”  
“The lake,” her and sam say in unison.  
“Y-Yeah,” Dean tries, faking it well. Yep, he was definitely thinking that too. ‘Cause he’s smart.  
“Which would explain why it's upping the body count,” Sam continues, not even noticing Dean’s attempt. Jane does though, unfortunately, shooting him a look of something between annoyance and “i-told-you-so”. “The lake is draining, right? It'll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, it's running out of time.”  
“And if it can get through the pipes,” Dean picks up, finally getting on board with the idea. “It can get to anyone, almost anywhere.”  
Jane rubs her forehead, that guilt back on her face for anyone to see. “This is gonna happen again soon.”  
“And we do know one other thing for sure. We know this has got something to do with Bill Carlton.”  
Dean stands up and begins pacing. “Yeah, it took both his kids.”  
“And I've been asking around,” Sam continues. “Lucas's dad, Chris—Bill Carlton's godson.” Dean sighs and sits back down. The kid is a direct connection now, that’s great.  
Jane slams the book shut with a thud and goes to put on a jacket. “Well then let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit.”  
*********  
When they get to the Carlton house, Bill is in the same spot as earlier-on the dock, staring at the lake. Except this time he gets the idea that he’s cursing out the lake instead of asking it a question. Dean is honestly a little scared to approach him, worried that he’ll deck him or something, so he doesn’t protest when Sam moves up to him first.  
“Mr. Carlton?” The man in question looks up in them, his eyes a sad kind of dead that he hopes he’l never have to see again, let alone feel. Jane tenses up a bit next to him. “We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”  
Jane speaks next, her voice wavering only slightly. “We’re from the department, I’m an uh, intern and-”  
“I don’t care who you are or who you’re with. I’ve answered enough questions today.” His tone is even more tired than his eyes, almost every syllable containing a crack or a half stifled sob.  
Sam continues, completely ignoring Bill. “Your son said he saw something in that lake. What about you? You ever see anything out there?” He doesn’t answer. “Mr. Carlton, Sophie's drowning and Will's death—we think there might be a connection to you or your family.”  
Bill’s eyes well up and he looks at them, and Dean swears that a little bit of him dies. “My children are gone. It's...it's worse than dying. Go away. Please.” It’s a last ditch attempt, but Jane tugs on his sleeve slightly and soon enough they’re leaving the house.  
Sam sighs. “What do you think?”  
“I think the poor guy needs a break, alright?” Jane says, rolling her eyes at her brother’s complete lack of social cues. “I also think he's not telling us something.” Okay, so she was paying attention.  
“Okay then, so now what?” Jane asks, leaning against his car slightly. Suddenly Dean goes rigid. The house.  
“What is it?” Sam asks, noticing his new expression.  
“Huh,” is all he can get out, too focused on the house. He slowly pulls out the folded child’s drawing in his pocket, wordlessly handing it to his siblings.  
It’s the same house.  
*********  
So, it turns out asking a mother if you can talk to her traumatized four year old child a day after you’ve met them is a bit harder tham it seems. Even when you’ve got a cute baby sister and Sam’s special puppy dog eyes on your side.  
“I'm sorry,” She starts for the thousanth time. “But I don't think it's a good idea.”  
“I just need to talk to him,” Dean also says for the thousanth time. “Just for a few minutes.”  
“He won't say anything,” she continues with a wave of her hand. “What good's it gonna do?”  
“Andrea,” Sam tries. “We think more people might get hurt. We think something's happening out there.”  
She closes her eyes and rubs her head like she has a headache. “My husband, the others, they just drowned. That's all. It’s a tragedy, but it’s normal.”  
“If that's what you really believe, then we'll go,” Dean begins. “But if you think there's even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let me talk to your son.”  
Lucas is coloring when he finally gets to his room, the same practiced motions he’s been doing every time he’s seen the kid. “Hey, Lucas. You remember me?” He glances down at the drawings he’s working on-a red bicycle. He glances around the desk and pauses-more bicycles. Same color, similar size. The kid has drawn three pictures of the same thing. Spooky.  
“You know, I, uh, I wanted to thank you for that last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again.” He picks up the blue crayon and adds some water next to the smaller version of the bike he’s already finished. He holds out the wrinkled drawing to him, smoothing it down on the table. “How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen?” Same old response-nothing. “Maybe you could nod yes or no for me.” Dean tries, hoping the simpler approach would get out the answer.  
Lucas just keeps coloring. Okay, time to go to the deep stuff. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Sam and Jane standing in the doorway, and he almost wants to kick them out. But he can’t.  
“You're scared,” Dean begins with a deep breath. “It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too.” In the doorway, Sam tilts his head. Jane offers asmall apologetic smile. “I didn't feel like talking, just like you.” And I didn’t. For six months. “But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave.” He takes a deep breath again. “And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.”  
With a start Lucas drops his crayon, letting it silently roll across the floor. His eyes meet Dean’s with a sudden intensity, and he hands out his picture. Silently. It’s similar to the last one-a building. But this time it’s a white church and a small yellow house. The red bike is back though, this time accompanied by a little stick figure boy.  
“Thanks, Lucas.”  
*********  
Two hours later Dean is still staring at the picture. “Andrea said the kid never drew like that until his Dad died.” Jane barely looks up form her book in the backseat, answering monotone, factual.  
“There are cases-going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies. It makes sense.” Dean rolls over it in his head, thinking it through. It does make sense.  
“Whatever's out there,” he poses, “What if Lucas is tapping into it somehow? I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please be my guest.”  
“All right then,” Sam says his fingers tapping on the steering wheel lightly. “We got another house to find.”  
“The only problem is,” Jane speaks up, “There's about a thousand yellow two-stories in this town alone. Not very specific.”  
Dean holds up the photo for her to see. He points to the church in the backgroup. “See this church?” Jane nods without even looking up. Sam chuckles. “I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here.”  
“Oh wOw,” Jane deadpans, her voice practically doused in sarcasm. “The high school drop out thinks he's so smart!”  
“Oh please,” He responds. “You’re fifteen-”  
“AND I graduated,” she reminds. Shit, that’s right. The car brakes into a small silence, the only noise being the soft rumble of the old engine.  
“You know, um…” Sam begins, looking straight ahead, not daring to look at him. “What you said about Mom, to the kid, you never told me that before.”  
Dean shrugs and answers as nonchalantly as he can, trying to put about the air that he doesn’t care. In reality his insides are jumping up and down, and he’s screaming at himself to play it cool. “It’s no big deal.”  
Jane flops over in the backseat, being her normal overdramatic self. “Oh God, just kiss already!”  
*********  
White chruch, yellow house. Fence by the house. Sam as the drawing.  
The woman who lives in the house is named Mrs. Sweeny. She’s a noce older woman with lts of family pictures hanging on the wall, like she’s afraid she’ll forget people if she doesn’t look at them daily.  
Jane begins holding out her hand to shake like a polite little schoolgirl she most definitely isn’t. “We’re sorry to bother you, but does a little boy live here, by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle.” The woman’s face drops, her eyes scanning the pictures again.  
“No girl,” If her tone wasn’t so kind Dean was sure Jane would’ve yelled at her. “Not for a very long time. Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now.” Mrs. Sweeny sits down, her head falling into her hands. “The police never—I never had any idea what happened. He just disappeared.”  
Sam pokes him in the side, motioning to a little table by the armchair the older woman is resting in. Seated on the table are a few tiny green army men, placed in almost the exact same position that Lucas had them in earlier. He almost expects to see Lucas crouched next to the table playing with them.  
“Losing him,” Sweeny explains. “You know, it's...it's worse than dying.” Dean’s pretty sure that she’s Peter’s mother at this point. He’s only seen that kinda pain on mothers who’ve lost their own children before.  
“Did he disappear from here? I mean, from this house?” Sam asks gently.  
Mrs. Sweeny sniffs slightly and Jane hands her a tissue, eyes full of kindness and sympathy. “He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up.” God. That happened with Jane once and Dean nearly lost his mind. To have her not come back at all? That would ruin him.  
Jane pokes his arm, snapping him out of his daze once again. She holds out a photo to him. It’s a two kids, boy scouts, posed like some old-ass teacher shuffled them into a weird formation, arms wrapped around each other awkwardly. But what really catches his eye is he scribbled out label beneath the fading photograph.  
Peter Sweeny and Billy Carlton, 1970.  
*********  
“Okay, this little boy Peter Sweeney vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow.” Sam begins, trying to piece together this slowly unveiling case in his mind.  
“Yeah, Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding something, huh?” Dean adds, mentioning the mans suspicious nature. He sure as hell didn’t want to be around that guy-grieving or not-for more than five minutes at a time.  
Jane leans forward from her now familiar spot in the back seat, her head peaking over the front bench. “And the people Bill loves are all getting punished. So what if Bill did something to Peter?”  
Sam looks over from his seat, staring at Dean with his new revalation. “What if Bill killed him?”  
Jane whistles at his comments and leans back, muttering something about how it’s unfair and messed up in that way only a teenager can.  
“Peter's spirit would be furious,” he continues, his eyes widening at his own genius. Stuck up kid. “It'd want revenge.”  
They pull up in front of the Carlton house just then, the three sliding out of the car and wlaking towards the door with a newfound confidence. He may be greiving, but he’s still a goddamn murderer.  
“Mr. Carlton?” Dean calls, banging on the front door. He’s met with nothing but the sound of a engine roaring. Wait, what?  
Before he can question it Jane is dashing around the side of the house and screaming, pointing out at the lake desperately. He heads over to her, coming just in time to see Bill Carlton revving his boat into the water. He shouts at him, something about getting out of the water, but he can’t quite tell over the sounds of his two younger siblings yelling as well. He runs down to the end of the dock, nearly toppling Jane into the water once he gets there.  
“BILL!” He shouts, trying desperately to get him to listen. He either doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t care.  
And then his boat shoots up in the air, and Bill Carlton goes under.  
*********  
As soon as the three enter the sheriff’s station, Andrea stands up, looking the three up and down “Sam, Jane. Dean.” If Dean wasn’t so shocked from Bill Carlton’s death he’d be happy that she seemed to notice him. “I didn't expect to see you here.”  
Jake, who had been leading hem into the station, raises an eyebrow. It’s not playful though, it’s outright annoyance. “So now you're on a first-name basis,” he comments, giving Dean a particularly hard glare. He turns back to Andrea, his gaze softening. She holds out a tuperware that was sitting on the tabel that Lucas is coloring on. “What are you doing here?”  
“I brought you dinner.”  
“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” Jake offers with a frown. “I don't really have the time.” He makes a not-so-subtle motion to the people standing behind him. Jane responds with a not-so-subtle fuck you facial expression.  
“I heard about Bill Carlton,” She continues, following the group into Jake’s office where he’s leading them. “Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?”  
Jake sighs and turns around. Dean is getting pretty sick of being ignored. “Right now we don't know what the truth is. But I think it might be better if you and Lucas went on home.”  
As if on cue, Lucas stands up and makes a whining sound, latching onto Dean’s arm. He sounds scared-scratch that, he sounds petrified, and his fear strikes a chord into Dean’s heart. He bends down to Lucas’s level. “Lucas, hey, what is it?” He doesn’t respond, just continues clinging to his arm with wide eyes. “Lucas.”  
Andrea leans down too, tugging on his sleeve gently. “Lucas, hey.” Dean continues muttering little it’s okays like he used to do when Jane or Sam had a nightmare. Eventually he lets go and allows his mother to lead him outside, but the entire time his eyes stay trained on Dean. Like he’s….like he’s warning him. The sound of Jake slamming his coat onto his chair brings him back to the present.  
“Okay, just so I'm clear, you see...something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the drink, and you never see him again?” Dean glances at his siblings, who are wearing similar expressions of confusion and sheepish-ness and nods slightly.  
“Yeah, that about sums it up.”  
“And I'm supposed to believe this, even though I've already sonar-swept that entire lake? And what you're describing is impossible? And you're not really Wildlife Service?” Shiiiiiit. “That's right, I checked. Department's never heard of you three. And they don’t even do internships there, atleast not for little girls like you.” Jane rises to her feet and Sam, without even hesitating or showing any expression, pushes her back into her seat. Dean leans forward to tackle the more pressing situation.  
“See, now, we can explain that. We-”  
“Enough. Please. The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did.” Dean leans back in his chair and flashes a quick smile, comforting hiis siblings quickly and then turning back to Jake. “So, we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton's disappearance.” Yeah, that’s not happening. “Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get into your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again.”  
Sam nods and stands up, his hand clamping on Jane’s shoulder, who looks like she’s 20 seconds away from killing someone. “Door number two sounds good.” Jake smilesalmost menacingly and stands up, opening the door for them politely.  
“That's the one I'd pick.”  
*********  
Dean’s vision is glazing over, and Jane’s little hums to the music are lulling him to sleep. But he’s still not tired, just...worried. Lucas’s scared eyes keep popping up in his head, full of fear, bright and large, looking at him like he’s a lifeline or-  
“Green.” That’s Jane, slapping him upside the head.  
“What?”  
Sam sighs, “Light's green, Dean.”  
“Right,” he answers, turning the car right and onto the small road that goes back to Lake Manitoc. Screw Jake, and screw Jay giving him a confused stare from the backseat. He’s going back for Lucas.  
“Uh, the interstate's the other way,” Sam points out, pointing behind them. He just ends up pointing at Jane’s confused bitch-face, which causes his hand to het slapped.  
“I know,” is his only explanation.  
“But Dean, the job’s over,” Jane protests, leaning so far back in the seat that he can barely see her. Dean knows that if he kept driving for more than a half hour she’d fall asleep, and it’s tempting to let her, but this is more important.  
“I'm not so sure.”  
“If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed. The spirit should be at rest.” Sam explains.  
“All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done? You know, what if we've missed something? What if more people get hurt?”  
Sam rolls his eyes, perfectly mirroring Jane’s from earlier. Dean may look more like her, but sometimes those two are the exact same bratty-ass little kid. “But why would you think that?”  
He nearly mutters out the next part, shirfting in his seat with quiet embarrassment. He can ssee the “Welcome to Lake Manitoc sigh up ahead. “Because Lucas was really scared.” Jane laughs slightly from the backseat, but it’s not unkind. More...surprised.  
“That's what this is about?” She questions, leaning forward and resting her head on Sam’s shoulder in a way that looks ridiculously uncomfrtable. He assumes she likes the physical touch-she’s always been clingy.  
“I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay,” he explains, defending himself quickly.  
“Who are you?” Jane gasps sarcastically, dramatically placing a hand to her heart. “And what have you done with my big brother?” He pushes her back to her seat with a shove. Dean has to fight the smile off of his face.  
“Oh, shut up.”  
*********  
Sam’s still hesitant when they get to the Barr’s door, stopping him from knocking on the blue-painted door. “Are you sure about this? It's pretty late, man.” He just rolls his eyes in reponse, and holds out his hand to knock on the door. He brings it down when-  
Lucas bursts open the door, his eyes even wider than they were at the station, and just stands there for a second. Dean can feel the adrenaline running through his brain the second they make eye contact, and when the younger boy takes off into the house Dean is the first one to follow him-no hesitation. They run all the way down the hallway, stopping at a bathroom. The only consoltation of his siblings being anywhere near are the familiar sets of footfalls behind him-one larger and thumping, one softer and tapping.  
Water is pouring out from beneath the bathroom door when they get there, leaking into the hallway like an old stain. Lucas starts pounding onto the door furiously, and if he wasn’t mute Dean would expect him to be screaming Mom at full blast. But he’s still the same, hauntingly silent as always. With only a single glance to Jane, she’s pulling Lucas away from the door and Sam’s slamming his foot into the door to knock it down almost effortlessly.  
The bathtub is what’s currently causing the flooding, but that’s not the part that’s panicking Lucas-a water stain wouldn’t panic a child this much. It’s the brunette head pushed into the bathtub by some invisible force. Dean is by Andrea’s side in a flash, yanking her out with little effort, but once she takes her first breath she’s yanked back under, as if something was grabbing at her hair-there was nothing. So Dean beckons Sam over and on the count of three they pull her back up for air and drag her all the way over to the corner of the bathroom, where she begins to cough up water.  
What the hell?  
*********  
Dawn is breaking when Sam finally builds up the courage to ask Andrea about the whole “invisible hand holding me under in my own bathtub” thing. “Can you tell me?” She shakes her head quickly and pulls Lucas, who is sitting in her lap, even closer.  
“No.” It’s curt. Final. She’s not changing her mind. Her face crumples a bit and Jane places a comforting hand on her shoulder, the way she did to Mrs. Sweeny the day before. Her face crumples a bit and Dean has to look away, focusing on the shelves lined with notebooks surrounding him. “It doesn’t make any sense.” She sniffles. “I’m going crazy.”  
“No, you're not,” Jane comforts with a soft smile. “Tell me what happened. Everything.” The phrase would normally sound like a demand, but coming from her low and soft voice it sounds only like a kind request. This is what she’s best at.  
“I heard...I thought I heard...there was this voice.” She begins, voice shaking like it’s a flimsy branch in a windstorm.  
“What did it say?” She continues, gently peering into her eyes. She avoids her blue eyes and burows her face into Lucas’s shoulder.  
“It said...it said 'come play with me'.” Andrea sobs a little bit, placing a kiss to her kid’s head, as if she’s comforting him and not herself. Dean knows the feeling. On bad days sometimes he’d sit real close to Jane and watch a movie and tell himself the way he let her be clingy and overly-affectionate was because she needed him, not the other way around. Because sometimes that’s all you can do. “What's happening?” She sobs.  
Finally finding the notebook he didn’t know what he was looking for, Dean holds it out to the crying woman on a certain picture, speaking as gently as his impatience and panic will allow him. “Do you recognize the kids in these pictures?”  
She eyes the old photo through glassy eyes-the boy scouts, shoved together strangely. A few look familiar. “What?” She asks, wiping the tears from her face. “Um, um, no. I mean, except that's my dad right there. He must have been about twelve in these pictures.” She points to a boy in the third row-a boy that’s standing right next to Peter Sweeny.  
“Chris Barr's drowning,” Sam says, standing up from the kitchen table he was sitting on. “The connection wasn't to Bill Carlton. It must have been to the sheriff. Bill and the sheriff—they were both involved with Peter.”  
“What about Chris?” Andrea asks, shifting Lucas slightly. He moves from his position of grabbing onto her shirt, and stands up, walking towards a window facing the lake. “My dad—what are you talking about?”  
Dean barely notices her questions, eyes focused on the boy staring out the window, his eyes slowly glazing over like they do when he’s about to panic. “Lucas?” He continues staring, his tiny fingers slowly clenching. “Lucas, what is it?”  
And then, wordlessly, Lucas opens the door and walks outside. The group follows, mainly because of their confusion, but concern is also definitely a factor in that. He stops on a tiny patch of grass, marking the spot. Dean nods, understanding his message and turns back to Andrea. “You and Lucas get back to the house and stay there, okay?” She nods, seemingly understanding that what they’re about to do is gonna be really freaking weird and pulls Lucas back into the house.  
And they dig up a fucking bike.  
“Peter's bike,” Jane observes nonchalontaly as she leans against the silver shovel she was using, panting between words. Dean nods-it’s definitely that bike. Same design, same red color-the exact same one that Lucas had drawn when-  
“Who are you?” Jake. Shit. All three of the Winchesters turn around slowly, revealing Jake pointing a gun at them. His hand is steady, his gaze is angry, and from experience Dean is sure that this guy won’t hesitate to shoot any of them.  
“Put the gun down, Jake,” Sam says, inching towards Jane slightly. Dean has the exact same idea, because he needs to get her behind him before she says something stupid and gets herself shot and that’s his job, it’s his job, so he needs to get Jay and Sam behind him so that they’re safe because that’s-  
“How did you know that was there?” Jake demands, whipping the gun around to point at Sam now. Shitshitshit get the attention.  
“What happened?” He jokes, taking a step forward. The ideal outcome happens, and the gun is trained on Dean once again. Okay, that’s good. “You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake and then buried the bike? You can't bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried.”  
The words seem to work and his hand starts to shake on the trigger. Step 1-get in his head-complete. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” Dean can see Andrea running out of the house from the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. This entire situation is a bit too tense for his liking.  
“You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago.” Jane shit stop talking, shit the guns back on her now, what the actual hell. “That's what the hell I'm talking about.”  
“Dad!” Andrea calls from across the field where she’s currently running over to them.  
“And now,” Jane continues, barely flinching from the barrel of a gun three feet away from her. “You got one seriously pissed-off spirit.”  
Dean steps in again, at this point just kinda shooting words out of his ass to get Jake to get the gun off his goddamn 15-year-old sister. “It's gonna take Andrea, Lucas, everyone you love. It's gonna drown them. And it's gonna drag their bodies God knows where, so you can feel the same pain Peter's mom felt. And then, after that, it's gonna take you, and it's not gonna stop until it does.  
“Yeah, and how do you know that?” His cheek twitches.  
“Because,” Sam starts, “That's exactly what it did to Bill Carlton.”  
Jake laughs morbidly, but anyone could tell that he knows they’re right. He’s just in denial. “Listen to yourselves, all of you. You're insane.”  
“I don't really give a rat's ass what you think of us,” Dean starts. He takes a step forward, and now the gun is a foot from his face but he knows that Jake won’t shoot anymore. He’s too psyched out. “But if we're gonna bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them into dust. Now tell me you buried Peter somewhere. Tell me you didn't just let him go in the lake.”  
“Dad, is any of this true?” Andrea asks, having reached the group now. She’s glancing between her father, the loaded weapon, and Dean’s face, just trying to get any sense out of this. To be fair, it is a pretty crazy sight to see.  
“No. Don't listen to them. They're liars and they're dangerous.”  
“Something tried to drown me,” she continues, ignoring her father’s denial. “Chris died on that lake. Dad, look at me.” He does, turning his head towards his daughter and lowering his gun slightly. Dean takes this opportunity to grab Sam and Jane and move them a bit more behind him, so he’s in front. So he’s the protector. “Tell me you—you didn't kill anyone.” And Jake can’t. “Oh my god,” Andrea gasps hand covering her mouth.  
“Billy and I were at the lake,” Jake begins, just trying to explain himself. “Peter was the smallest one. We always bullied him, but this time, it got rough. We were holding his head under the water. We didn't mean to. But we held him under too long and he drowned. We let the body go, and it sank.” Okay, that’s not great. No body to burn. “Oh, Andrea, we were kids. We were so scared. It was a mistake. But, Andrea, to say that I have anything to do with these drownings, with Chris, because of some ghost? It's not rational.”  
“All right, listen to me, all of you. We need to get you away from this lake, as far as we can, right now. We need to-” Andrea interrupts him with a gasp, her hand shakily stretching out towards the lake. Lucas is standing at the end of the dock, reaching his hand into the water. Straight into the lake that his father died in.  
A chorus of “Lucas!” echoes through the yard as five different people run towards him, desperate to just get him away from the water. “Lucas baby, stay right there!” Andrea calls. They’re only feet away when an old white hand sticks out of the water and pulls Lucas straight under. So naturall, Dean dives right in.  
He can hear two other splashes behind him, probably Jane and Sam. He really doesn’t want them down here, but he also can’t stop him. After a few seconds that feels like forever he comes back to the top to breathe. Andrea is helping Jane to her feet on the dock, her jeans soaking wet. She takes a few gulps of air before turning to him. “Sam!” And she’s right-he’s not there, and neither is Lucas.  
Dean goes back under and the world becomes thick. Everything is muggy and slow, and he can’t even open his eyes. He can see another shape moving towards the surface, but it’s too big to be Lucas so it’s probably Sam getting more air. His lungs are burning now and it feels like they’re collapsing into themselves, but he knows they aren’t. Eventually the pain becomes too much and he goes back to the surface.  
It takes a couple minutes for the air world to come into focus, but when it does his heart drops. Jake is wading in the water, screaming at Peter to take him and Andrea is standing on the dock-being help back by a dripping wet Jane-screaming at him to stop. “JUST LET IT BE OVER!” And he goes under. Jake goes under, and somehow Dean knows he isn’t gonna come back up ever again.  
Andrea’s still screaming when Dean remembers Lucas, so he enters the water world again. But this time, he finds him. When he dives down a few feet, he can feel something human, and it’s small and Lucas-shaped and all Dean can think is yes so he grabs him and pulls him up, and he’s still not moving, but he’s breathing, and Dean did it.  
On the dock, Jane is smiling. And so is Sam. But his arms are wrapped around her, and he can only guess that she had tried to jump in after him. But he did it, so she didn’t. And Sam lets go and claps her on the shoulder, and the two help Dean and the kid onto the dock, and Andrea hugs Lucas like she’ll never let go and Dean did it. He did it.  
*********  
Jane, surprisingly, is the most beaten up about Jake’s death. Her face hangs for a few days, and her smile looks a bit forced. But Sam is good at these things, and Dean has some experience dealing with a mopoy teenage Jane, so they help her through it.  
Lucas made them sandwhiches for the road, and he talks now. Not a lot, but he’s not the mute kid that Dean met a few days earlier. He’s a bit sad to say goodbye to the kid though. Jane taught him a swear word, and Andrea now has a grudge against her.  
Andrea’s struggling through her father’s death, but Dean thinks she’s at peace with it. She does kiss him before he leaves, which is a win in his book.  
And Peter Sweeny is at rest.


	4. Phantom Traveler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings-planes, canon-typical violence, language, (fake) panic attacks, almost death experiences, sexism, Jerry is a pain in the ass
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

The biggest downside that is occasionally an upside of having to live your life in a hotel room is that sometimes you have to share a bed. Jane can only take so many nights of sleeping on an old couch before she needs a bed. But apparently, the 26 year old man-child also needs one. So she’s currently sharing a bed with Dean. Which is about as pleasant as it sounds.  
“Morning, sunshine,” Sam calls, waking her up with a jolt. With a groan she lays back down, slamming her face into the pillow with as much force as she can manage.  
“What time is it?” Dean mumbles, rolling over so he’s nearly on top of her. She shoves back at him weakly, but she isn’t able to get very far. Eventually she just lets Dean use her as his personal pillow.  
“Uh, it's about five forty-five.”  
“In the morning?” Jane shouts, sitting up. Dean’s arm grabs her shoulder and slams her back into the mattress.  
“Yep,” He responds, setting what Jane assumes is a hot chocolate on her nightstand. She hates coffee.  
“Where does the day go,” she mutters, sitting up finally and shoving Dean away. He whines at her small shove. “Did you get any sleep last night?” She asks, noticing the circles under his eyes. It’s no secret that he’s been having nightmares ever since Jessica died, he wakes up every thirty seconds with a gasp. You’d have to be an idiot to not notice it.  
“Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours,” he lies, sitting down on the bed he “slept” in and sipping on whatever coffee confection he’s currently working on.  
“Liar,” Dean says with a yawn, sitting up finally. He shoves Jane playfully before grabbing his coffee and standing up, stretching out his sore muscles. “'Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial.  
“Hey, what can I say? Its riveting TV.” Sam shrugs and looks down, as if suddenly his coffee is the most important thing in the entire world.  
“When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?”  
He shrugs slightly, forcing the tiredness out of his eyes and leaning back on the headboard. “I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal.” He takes another little sip.  
“Yeah, it is,” Jay insists. Sleep is like, the only thing that keeps her going-she can’t imagine how Sam is functioning without it. It’s almost dangerous  
“Look, I appreciate your concern—”  
“Oh, I'm not concerned about you,” She corrects with a playful smirk. “It's your job to keep our asses alive.” He shrugs again and Jane leans back into the pillows, not in the mood to argue over this.  
“It’s Jess, isn’t it,” Dean pipes up. Sam takes another sip of his coffee, making a face he tries to hide. If Jane didn’t know she’d have thought the coffee was just bitter-but she does know better.  
“Yeah,” he admits. “But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you.”  
“You can't let it. You can't bring it home like that.” And there Dean goes, with his whole “hunting life is work” thing. He’s wrong. Dean thinks that emotions don’t matter and that they should be shoved down until you can’t anymore and Jane hates it almost as much as she hates those water spirits from Atlanta. You need to feel to survive, and this job means lots of feeling things, mostly sucky things.  
“So, what? All this it...never keeps you up at night?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow and standing up to pace around to his side of the bed. Dean shakes his head. “Never?” He continues, a small smile creeping onto his face. “You’re never afraid?”  
“No not really.” Sam nods once and then lunges for Dean’s pillow removing the pistol he keeps under there at all times. Dean scowls and snatches it back, defensively throwing it down on the nightstand.  
“That’s not fear, that’s precaution. I sleep next to a 15 year old who likes to pick fights, one of these days somebody’s gonna come and kill her in her sleep.” Jane laughs outright at Dean’s weak defense story, but shrugs and accepts it anyway.  
“All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue.” Just as Jane lays back down, because it’s still 5am in the freakin’ morning, Dean’s phone rings it’s annoying ringtone and she’s snapped out of it. His voice is still groggy and scratchy when he answers.  
“Hello?” He asks. She can’t hear who’s on the other line so she just rolls over, shoving her face into he sucky hotel pillow. She can only catch a few phrases now, but she doesn’t mind. Why does she care, anyway?  
“Yeah, up in Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing.” Silence. “What is it?” Silence. “Yeah, we’ll meet you there.  
Jane is just getting back into the lovely realm of sleep when something-which she assumes is Dean-shoves her off the bed and onto the floor. “Get up, we’re going on an adventure.”  
*********  
“Thanks for making the trip so quick,” Jerry said. He was the man that had called Dean. John and him had solved a case together a few months ago, a nasty poltergeist that Jane had skipped out on due to her having the flu that week. “I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.” He’s adressing Sam, ignoring her as always.  
Sam nods along with him. “Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” A man inspecting something metal walks past and smiles, saying something about how he loved that movie. Jerry snaps back at him and they continue walking across the asphalt.  
“Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn’t for you and your Dad, I probably wouldn’t be alive.” He rotates to Sam again. “Your Dad said you were off to college. That right?” Sam smiles shakily and ducks his head.  
“Yeah, I’m taking some time off.”  
“Well he was real proud of you. I could tell. Talked about you and the other one all the time.” The other one? Oh fuck him.  
“I have a name.” She was hoping he wouldn’t hear, but he apparently does, whipping around to face her and her little notebook she’s peering over.  
“Oh, so you’re little Jane?” She nods and forces a smile.  
“Yep, I’m little Jane. Up on my feet again, no more flu.” He nods and focuses away from her, asking the next question (which she was totally capable of answering) to Dean.  
“Where is the old man anyway?”  
“Working his own case,” He responds, the lie coming naturally. But it’s not completely a lie right? He is working a case. Hopefully. Jerry nods, seemingly accepting the answer and rounding the corner into a small office-all white and shiny.  
“I got something I want you guys to hear.” He pulls out a CD and shoves it into a player, pressing a few buttons. “I listened to this, and it sounded like it was up your alley. I normally wouldn’t have access to this. It’s the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.” He presses play and the voice of a panicked man, occasionally cutting out with static fills the room.  
“Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485—immediate instruction help!” Another voice comes in, this one calmer. “United Britannia 2485, I copy your message—May be experiencing some mechanical failure…” Whoosh. The sound is unlike anything Jane has ever heard. It sounds like something to come out of a sci-fi movie, like some air-whooshing-time-travel-esque sound that chills her to the bone. She begins scribbling in her notebook while Jerry continues talking.  
“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive.” Seven? This was a bloodbath. Her stomach clenches. “Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.”  
Sam’s eyebrows raise. “You don't think it was?” Jerry’s shoulders square defensively.  
“No, I don't.” Jane jots a few more things down and takes inventory of what info they have, preparing to ask for more.  
“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, and um, a list of survivors.” He raises his eyebrows and she counters with a face that screams listen to me. He finally gives in and nods. “And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” She continues. This one is a long shot, but she’s hoping that they can pull it off. Jerry frowns.  
“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage...fellas,” Continue ignoring the girl, that’s totally fine and not a bit sexist. “The NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance.”  
Dean glances over at Sam and then her, the idea formulating in all of their heads. “No problem.”  
*********  
Jane doesn’t like dresses. Sure they make her look pretty sometimes, but they’re too much hassle, especially when they’re undercover. And currently, she’s a member of homeland-fucking-security.  
“All right kid, what do you got?”  
“Well,” she begins, “There's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder.” Sam raises his eyebrows as a silent cue to continue. She presses the play button on the tape and tells her brothers to listen.  
The tapes message is simple and haunting, only two words-no survivors. Dean’s brows furrow at the message. “‘No survivors’ what’s that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”  
“Beats me,” is the best she can answer.  
“So, what we you thinking?” Sam asks. “A haunted flight?”  
“It’s possible,” she sighs, leaning back in her seat. Jane quickly sits up when she realizes that it might wrinkle the new way-too-expensive dress she’s wearing. “Lots of history for that stuff, like uh, phantom travelers.”  
“Or remember flight 401?” Sam adds. Dean nods, seemingly following their trains of thought.  
“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.”  
“Maybe we got a similar deal,” she offers with a little shrug. Dean claps his hands with fake enthusiasm.  
“All right, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?” This was Sam’s part of the research, so he answers.  
“Third on the list-Max Jaffey.” He states with more certainty than this situation calls for.  
“Why him?” Dean asks, starting up the impala. It comes to life with its normal purr.  
“Well, for one, he's from around here,” Sam explains. It makes sense, and Jane is really tired of dragging her ass all the way across the country every other day. “And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did.”  
“And why is that?” She asks, making the whole thing more dramatic than it has to be by throwing her arms open. She ends up hitting her wrist on the door and has to hold back a cry of pain.  
“Well, I spoke to his mother, and she told me where to find him.”  
“And where would that be?”  
*********  
Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital is about as nice as it sounds. It is on a river, but it’s not a very pretty one. It’s all full of trash and the water is brown and mucky-not exactly something to brag about, let alone advertise in the name of your mental hospital.  
They find Max in the garden, pacing the rows of tulips and odd mossy fountains with his cane as he stares into the sky. Like the sky is what took down the plane. Jane knows it was something else.  
“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max begins. He seems nice enough, a kind older man with soft eyes. Jane adjusts her red dress slightly, trying to look as professional as possible.  
“Some new information has come up,” Dean explains, the lie rolling off his tongue. “So if you could just answer a couple questions…”  
“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?” Sam asks, trying to sound as calm as possible, like nothing’s amiss.  
“Like what?”  
“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices.” The list could be longer, but Sam keeps it short so the man has nothing to worry about. When he denies anything, Dean sighs and speaks up.  
“Listen, Mr. Joffey-”  
“Jaffey-” Jane and the man in question correct at the same time.  
“Jaffey.” He shoots Jane a subtle look. “You checked yourself in here, right?” He nods and looks down, as if he should be ashamed for being here. It may be a dump, but Jane’s sure it can do some good for a guy like him. “Can I ask why?”  
He almost rolls his eyes and she has to suppress a chuckle at his response. “I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash.”  
“Uh huh,” Dean nods, disbelieving. “And that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?” Max trails off, glancing at the ground.  
“I...I don't want to talk about this anymore.” Dean opens is mouth to say something again, but she steps in instead, smiling kindly and appreciatively.  
“I’m sorry Mr. Jaffey, but we need to know what you saw. We’ll believe you, promise.” Max looks her up and down, but it’s not judgmental or creepy. It’s almost...impressed?  
“No. No, I was...delusional. Seeing things.” Dean mutters something about that to Sam, but Jane just keeps up her smile. “What’s a young lady-” Yep, she definitely likes this guy. “Like you doing with Homeland Security.”  
“I’m just helping these two fellas out. Y’know paperwork and stuff. I’m...an intern of sorts.” He nods and smiles back. “Now if you could just tell me what you think you saw.” She’s careful to use the word “me” trying to leave Dean out of it this time. She could tell the guy disliked her oldest brother.  
“There was...this—man. And, uh, he had these...eyes—these, uh...black eyes.” Okay that’s uh...not a good sign. “And I saw him—or I thought I saw him…” his eyes loose focus for a second, his irises trailing towards the sky lazily again. “He opened the emergency exit.”  
“What?” Sam questions, stiffening up again.  
“Yeah, I know.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face. “But that's...that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.”  
“Yeah,” Jane echoes, her voice soft and scratchy like a quiet breeze. That is impossible. And the black eyes…  
“This man, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asks, leaning towards Jane as if to cue her to start writing, but she already is, her wrist on the verge of cramping from how quickly her scribbled notes are coming. She pauses when she hears Max laugh slightly.  
“What are you, nuts?” Her hand pauses, midway through the word ‘pressure’. “He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”  
*********  
“So here we are,” Dean says as they pull up next to the normal-looking suburban house. “George Phelps, seat 20C.” The man that was sitting in front of Max Jaffey.  
“Dude, I don't care how strong you are,” she cracks while she hops out of the car, smoothing out the wrinkles on her skirt. It’s growing on her. “Even high on steroids or something it’s impossible to open up an emergency door during the flight.”  
“Not if you're human,” Sam corrects. He’s giving the same treatment she did to his pants-fresh from the suit rental. “But I think this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form.”  
“Yeah,” Dean scoffs, motioning towards the perfectly manicured lawn. “Definitely looks like a creature’s layer to me.”  
George died during the flight, sadly, but his wife is still here to tell the tale and she has no qualms against letting two young agents and a scrawny girl into her home to ask questions.  
“This is your late husband?” Sam questions, holding out a bad photo. It’s probably a failed driver’s license photo or something.  
“Yes,” She replies, her voice shaking a little bit. “That was my George.”  
“And you said he was a...dentist?” Dean’s eyebrow is cocked, she can tell he’s still not on board with the monster thing.  
“Mm-hm. He was headed to a convention in Denver.” The poor woman’s eyes tear up and she dabs at them with a kleenex. “Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…” She seems to not be able to speak any more, letting out a half-assed sob.  
“How long were you married?” Jane speaks up, trying to calm down the situation a bit with some more routine questions.  
“Thirteen years.” Ah, the unlucky number.  
“In all that time, did you ever notice anything…” she pauses, trying not to be disrespectful. “Strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?” Mrs. Phelps pauses, staring at the photo for a second.  
“Well, he had acid reflux. If that’s what you mean.”  
*********  
They’re let into the warehouse with little to no disturbance, probably thanks to the suits Jane’s brothers are wearing and the awkward red dress she’s wearing-now sporting a few gorgeous wrinkles. Her hair is nicer though; not flying about her face like some old doll’s would. When they get near the wreckage-it’s strange to see a whole plane all torn apart like that-Dean takes out his baby. Well, his other baby, the car always wins. It’s his homemade EMF meter. Jane helped a bit with it, but it was created when she was still in school. Ah, the good old days.  
“What is that?” Sam asked, gesturing at the slightly beat-up Walkman looking device.  
“It's an EMF meter.” Sam’s eyebrows raise. “Reads electromagnetic frequencies…” She explains. He should know this, he’s not an idiot.  
“Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up Walkman?” Dean smiles proudly.  
“'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade.” His smile grows when Sam picks it up to examine it, not able to see his growing disgust. Jane chuckles, ready for this inevitable spat.  
“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean’s smile falls in a split second, and he shoots a glare at Sam that’s usually reserved for bad guys. He plugs in the ear buds and begins to walk around the wreckage, scanning his machine left and right. The lights perk up when he gets to the emergency room, and judging by Dean’s face he’s hearing the annoying whine it makes too. She dashes over.  
“Check out the emergency door handle.” He says, running his hand over it. It comes back covered in a fine layer of yellow-ish dust. Jane leans down to inspect it. “What is this stuff?”  
She shrugs, scraping it into a nearby bag. There was some burnt metal in there, but Jane doesn’t really care. This is probably more important. “One way to find out.”  
She’s just tucked the bag into her dress when there’s a loud bang and the sounds of guns loading and footsteps. Shit, that can’t be good. Her brothers make eye contact and drag her around the corner, walking as casually as possible. The few people they do pass don’t look twice, but then an alarm blares and they have no choice but to take off. Jane’s beginning to regret wearing the little kitten heels she had chosen for today.  
Unfortunately, the gate they reach is covered in barbed wire. Dean solves the problem though, tossing his suit jacket over the barbs and climbing over. Sam goes next, leaving Jane standing awkwardly on the other side as the security guards approach. After a few tense seconds she gives in and tosses her heels over the fence, climbing quickly and probably bruising her feet in the process. Eh, she’s had worse.  
“Well, those monkey suits do come in handy,” She quips, picking up her shoes and running off to the car. God, she needs a nap.  
*********  
“Huh.” Jerry says, peering into a microscope. He’s examining the yellow stuff they found at the wreckage, and he still as yet to address her more than once. She’s come to the conclusion she wouldn’t mind punching him if given the chance. “This stuff is sulfur.”  
She raises her eyebrows. Her previous theory is coming together and it’s becoming more and more likely by the second. Usually she’d be happy about that-a chance to rub her genius-ness in her brother’s face, but not with this particular case. “You're sure?” She asks.  
“Take a look for yourself.” He says, stepping away from the machine. His tone is condescending. It may be wrong of her, but she really wishes that a situation would arise for her to show off. And maybe punch Jerry in the process. A few loud banging sounds and a litany of curses from outside the office snap her out of her thoughts, and Jerry rolls his eyes. “If you fellows,” and woman “would excuse me, I have an idiot to fire.”  
“Hmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue.” Dean ponders, glancing down at her notes. The current page she’s open to is a sketch of a dog, but the next page-which she quickly flips to-has all the info. And at the bottom of the page, circled and in large black font is one word.  
Demons.  
*********  
The room has been silent for around an hour when Sam finally speaks up, snapping Jay out of her full-blown research mode. “So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right?” She nods, following so far. He lists off some examples, counting them on his fingers. “I mean Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it.”  
“Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this.” Dean counters, gesturing at the papers in front of him.  
“Well, that's not exactly true.” She speaks up, clicking a few buttons on her computer. “According to Japanese beliefs, certain demons control certain disasters, natural and man-made. Earthquakes, diseases, etc.”  
“So you think this one causes plane crashes?” Dean prods. He stands up and begins pacing around, causing some papers Sam was working on to fall to the ground. Jane snickers when he has to bend to pick them up. “All right, so we have a demon that’s evolved with the times and found a way to up the body count.”  
Sam continues for her. “Yeah. You know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one?” Dean snorts and rubs his hand downs his face. Sam’s brow furrows, but to Jane it’s obvious what’s going on. He’s scared. “What?” Sam questions, noticing his facial expression.  
“I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big.” He sighs and sits back down. “And I wish Dad was here.”  
“Yeah. Me too,” Sam adds, leaning his head down on his desk. Jane studies her feet. The phone rings then, Dean’s ringtone dinging through the room. He picks up the phone quickly, holding up a one second finger. She slouches even further into her chair, picking at her nails as the conversation goes on.  
“Hello?” Pause. “Oh, hey Jerry.” Another pause. Dean’s face changes from contempt to-shock? “I’m so sorry, what happened.” A death probably. She takes out her notebook and gets ready to jot something down. “Where’d it happen?” Silence. He mouths a word at her, drawing the phone away from his ear for a second-Nazareth. She snorts. Whatever happened, the thing that did it has a sense of humor. Dean seems to agree, saying something about irony. He quickly follows it up with an apology, as apparently it didn’t land well. “Hang in there,” he finishes, slamming the phone shut and picking up his bag.  
“Another crash?” She asked, already knowing the answer.  
“Yep, let’s go.” Back on the road again.  
*********  
“It’s sulfur, right?” Jane tries to keep her tone even as Jerry makes an overdramatic show of examining the yellow powder they found at the crash site. It could literally take five seconds if he would just let him-  
“Yep, same as last time.”  
Dean sighs. “Well, that's great.” He drags his hand down his face for the fiftieth time that day. It’s gonna start leaving permanent marks soon she thinks. “All right, then that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”  
“With all due respect to Chuck,” Sam begins, treading lightly with his words. “If that's the case, that would be the good news.”  
“Uh oh,” she starts, her voice not changing pitch the entire time. “What’s the bad news?”  
“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight. And get this, so did flight 2485.”  
“Forty minutes?” Jerry asks. “What does that mean?” Yes, a chance to show off.  
“It’s biblical numerology. You know, Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death.” Boom. Jerry barely blinks.  
“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in.” Sam continues, apparently oblivious to the tense air between her and the man that’s employing them-for free she might add.  
“Any survivors?” Dean questions.  
“No. Or not until now, at least.”  
“The black box,” Jane speaks up, the pieces finally coming together for her. “Remember what the EVP said?”  
“’No survivors.’” There’s a pause as it sets in. Damnit, this is gonna be hard. “It’s going after the survivors, trying to finish the job.”  
*********  
It’s about the time that Jane would be taking a shower, but instead she’s sitting in her recently demoted seat in the back and avoiding questions about her age while she pretends to work for an airline. She hangs up finally, sighing and relaxing her posture. “That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”  
“Good job kiddo,” Dean congratulates. She smiles softly. “So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker.”  
“Right,” She begins. This one is gonna be tough. “Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job.”  
He sighs, and Jane knows he’d be doing the face rub by now if he wasn’t driving. “That sounds like just our luck.” Sam’s forehead wrinkles, mental calculations running through his brain.  
“Dean, that’s a five-hour drive, even with you behind the wheel.” Another sigh. They’ve got almost half that, and even breaking all the laws in the book that’s going to be pretty hard.  
“Call Amanda's cell phone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass.” He orders Jane.  
“I already left her three voice messages,” she explains. “She must have turned her cell phone off.” Sam slouches until his posture matches hers.  
“God we’re never gonna make it.”  
The engine revs. “We’ll make it.”  
*********  
They do make it, but barely. They would’ve missed it if the flight hadn’t been delayed by twenty minutes due to weather in Seattle as the departures board tells them. She points out the one that Amanda will be on.  
“Right there. They're boarding in thirty minutes.”  
“Okay. We still have some cards to play.” He spins around, taking in the clean white floors and the ever-constant white noise of people talking. “We need to find a phone.”  
There is a phone about thirty feet from them, and Dean picks it up frantically. The overly robotic female voice speaks up. “Airport Services.” Jane really doesn’t know whether it’s a robot or a human.  
“Hi, gate thirteen.”  
“Who are you calling, sir?” Yep, that’s a person. The minor disgust and disturbance is readable even through the phone. Dean does have that effect on people though.  
“I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um...flight 4-2-4.” Pause.  
“Okay sir.” And then they’re greeted with the friendly sound of hold music. It’s some weird jazzy song, but it feels as slow as a lullaby to Jane. Hurryuphurryuphurryuphurry-  
“This is Amanda Walker.” Jane lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.  
“Miss Walker, hi,” Dean begins, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “This is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here…”  
“Karen?” Jane winces. Not only is this a dirty tactic, but Amanda doesn’t sound nearly as scared as she should for this situation. Maybe this won’t work, then what do they do?  
“Nothing serious, just a minor car accident,” Dean explains. He’s not completely heartless. “But she was injured, so—“  
“Wait, that's impossible. I just got off the phone with her.” Fuck. All of their faces match in expression-dumbfound confusion. Dean finally gets his tongue to work again after a silence that feels like a hundred hours.  
“You what?”  
“Five minutes ago. She's at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?” Her tone turns accusatory. This is definitely not going as planned.  
“Uh, well...there must be some mistake.”  
“And how would you even know I was here?” Jane half expects her brother to say something along the lines of ‘lucky guess,’ but fortunately he doesn’t deciding to just stay silent and shoot both of them a confused and panicked look. “Is this one of Vince's friends?”  
Dean’s face tenses for a split second and then relaxes, finally finding an angle he can take. “Guilty as charged.” The relieved tone is hard to mask, and he lets out a half-assed chuckle. Jane suppresses an eye roll.  
“Wow. This is unbelievable.”  
“He's really sorry,” he tries again. She kinda feels bad for Vince, he’s gonna get an earful for this.  
“Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?” Jane can hear her moving the phone to set it down and she’s about twenty seconds away from just snatching it away from Dean and either shoving it at Sam or taking the call herself, but that would raise too many questions she doesn’t have answers for. Being quick on her feet isn’t really Jane’s forte.  
“Yes, but...he really needs to see you tonight, so—“  
“No, I'm sorry. It's too late.” The phone is moving again and Dean has to say something quick, something that changes her mind.  
“Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic.” There’s a pause. The phone moves back to her ear. He hit a chord. Jane slaps her brother on the back slightly, offering him an encouraging smile. He smiles back slightly, too focused on his “mission” to do more.  
“Really?”  
“Oh, yeah. He’s all-”  
“Look, I’ve got to go but uh…tell him to call me when I land.” Click. Jane groans, tilting her back to the ceiling and cursing and whoever’s out there.  
“Damn it!” Dean exclaims. “So close!” The defeat hangs in the air for a second before Sam speaks up, ready with a back-up plan as always.  
“All right, plan B. We're getting on that plane.” Oh no, this is not gonna go well.  
“Whoa, whoa,” Dean says, chasing after Sam. Jane leans against the phone pole, more interested in how this is going to play out than anything else. “Just hold on a second here.” His eyes are wide and his knees are locked. Sam sighs.  
“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we’re right it’s gonna crash.”  
He nods, gulping. “I know.”  
“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it,” Sam explains as if it’s obvious. No big deal, right? “I'll get the tickets. You and Jay get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through the security.”  
Jane snorts. “That’s not much.” Both her brothers send her a glare that, in her opinion, is completely unnecessary.  
“Meet me back here in five minutes.” He says, beginning to run off. When neither move, he turns back around. Dean’s eyes are still as wide as a saucer, and his face is beginning to pale. “Are you okay?”  
“No, not really,” He answers, his hands shaking slightly.  
“What?” He asks, glancing back at Jane for support. “What's wrong?”  
“Flying.” She explains, pushing off of the pole and strolling over to her brothers. “He’s scared of flying.” Sam’s disbelieving gaze turns back to Dean as he raises his eyebrows.  
“Seriously?”  
“It’s never really been an issue until now,” Dean defends, shrugging slightly. Sam looks like he’s about ready to jump off a cliff.  
“You’re joking, right?” He asks. His tone is desperate. “He’s joking, right Jay?” She shakes her head in mock sadness.  
“Why do you think we drive everywhere?” She proposes. “He’s scared.” Sam nods, glancing around exasperatedly.  
“All right then, me and Jane will go.” Jane nods, but Dean’s head snaps up like it’s tied to a string or something.  
“What?”  
“We’ll do this one on our own.” She explains calmly, stepping forward so she’s next to Sam. It makes sense, and if it wasn’t for Dean’s insane overprotective nature they would’ve gotten away with it  
“What are you, nuts?” He paces forward, evidently no longer scared. “You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.”  
“Dean, you can come with us or you can stay here.” Sam shrugs casually. “I don’t see a third option, it’s this or that.”  
“Come on! Really?” he cries, throwing his hand in the air. “Man...”  
*********  
Ten minutes later they are on the plane. Jane insisted on the window seat, being that she’s never flown before. She’d be lying to say she wasn’t at all scared, but she happy enough to get to see the sky a bit, and she’s still excited. The voice comes over the intercom, less robotic than the one on the phone. “Flight attendants, please cross-check doors before departure.”  
Dean’s leg is bouncing as he frantically examines the safety card in the pocket. “Just try to relax.” Sam comforts.  
“Just try to shut up.” He counters, his leg bouncing even higher as a loud noise fills the area around them. With a final rumble and a sound like compressed air Jane’s stomach jumps into her throat and she’s flying. The real view isn’t out the window though-it’s her brother’s face. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s leaning against the seat back, holding onto the armrests like they’re a lifeline. He’s also humming something that’s almost familiar. Jane has to stifle her laugh, but Sam isn’t quite as successful.  
“You're humming Metallica?” Jane questions, finally recognizing the tune. Dean nods stiffly and sucks in a breath.  
“It calms me down.” Sam sighs while Jane giggles, unwilling to take this thing seriously. I mean, c’mon, the famous Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire is scared of planes? That shit’s hilarious.  
“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right?” Sam’s tone is almost condescending. “But you got to stay focused.”  
“Okay.” Dean’s barely breathing, his entire face scrunched up with fear. Jane takes pity and rubs a comforting hand down his arm. He swats it away.  
“I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full-on exorcism.”  
“Yeah, on a crowded plane,” Dean sighs, his shoulders relaxing a bit. He can do a case, it’s what he’s good at. If he just focuses on that, Jay knows he’ll be fine. He snorts. “That's gonna be easy.”  
“Just take it one step at a time, all right?” she comforts. “Step one-who is it possessing?”  
“It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress.” She explains, stressing the words emotional distress. Like, oh I don’t know, the guy having a panic attack.  
“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash,” Sam offers. “If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up.” Dean nods and turns to a passing flight attendant, smiling politely but shortly.  
“Excuse me. Are you Amanda?” She smiles and shakes her head, moving on down the aisle. Jane scans the plane and notices only one other attendant, loading up a cart with drinks in the back. She smiles.  
“All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so somebody will go talk to her, and get a read on her mental state.” Dean nods and his hand shoots up slightly, volunteering himself. It makes sense since he’s in the aisle seat.  
“What if she's already possessed?” Sam questions.  
“There's ways to test that.” Dean counters, pulling something out of his bag. It’s a small vial with a cross on it-holy water. It could almost pass as a flask, had those been allowed on flights. “I brought some holy water.”  
“No,” Sam responds curtly, snatching at and throwing it into his jacket. “I think we can go more subtle. If she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of God.”  
“Oh,” replies Dean, his eyebrows raising. He’s impressed. “Nice.” He turns and walks off but Sam grabs his arm and pulls him back quickly.  
“Say it in Latin,” he reminds. Dean nods and walks off, muttering ‘I know’ under his breath. Jane’s not completely sure he does though, and she motions him back yet again.  
“In Latin it’s Christo,” she reminds. Dean rolls his eyes and shrugs away from her grip.  
“Dude, I know, I’m not an idiot!” He turns yet again back, and this time neither of them stop him, letting him march all the way to the back of the plane, stopping only when it shakes slightly. Jane has to laugh at the face he makes as he almost topples into the lap of a 40-year-old woman who looked like she was hoping it would happen. Now that was something she would’ve paid to see.  
Dean stays by Amanda for a few minutes, and Jane passes her time by staring out the window. She knows how big the world is, she’s been all over the country, but seeing it from this view makes it different. Everything is below her, and the space it would normally take her hours to travel takes minutes. The cars are racing past, just little ants made of light, and you can only tell where roads and lakes are because of the light. It’s like a glow-in-the-dark map, and for some reason it feels like it was made for her.  
Her brother comes back a minute later, looking annoyed for the most part. “Okay, well Amanda’s got to be the most well adjusted person on the planet,” he complains, sitting back down and buckling his seatbelt (even though the light went out minutes ago).  
“You said ‘Christo’?” Sam confirms. He’s met with a nod. “And?”  
“Well, there’s no demon in her, and there’s no demon getting in her.”  
“So, if it's on the plane,” Jane’s thinking out loud at this point. “It can be anyone. Anywhere.” And there’s a lot of people on this plane. Her attitude is reflected by the plan jostling slightly. She thinks it’s fun-Dean disagrees.  
“Come on! That can't be normal!” He exclaims, letting go of the seat for just enough time to make a sassy gesture with his hands.  
“It’s just a little turbulence, De.” She comforts. He seems to calm down at the mention of his childhood nickname, his breathe becoming a tiny bit slower. He does continue ranting though, directing the next part of it to Sam.  
“This plane is going to crash Sam,” he states, very matter-of-fact. Jane wants to shush him, but he seems to quiet himself. No need to have tons of people panicking over this. “Quit treating me like I’m friggin’ four!”  
“You need to calm down,” She says again, leaning into his space. He doesn’t push her out this time, which she categorizes as a win.  
“Sorry Jay, I just can’t.”  
“Yes you can. Because if you’re panicked you’re weak, and I don’t want to perform an exorcism on my own brother today.” His eyes widen, realizing her implications. “So you need to calm down, right. Now.” He nods, taking a deep breath and gripping onto her wrist. It hurts a bit, but if that’s what it takes to calm him down she’ll do it in a heartbeat.  
“Good,” Sam breathes, his tone light and calm. “Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum.”  
“What do we have to do?” Dean asks, already rubbing his temples with stress.  
“It’s two parts,” Sam explains. “The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”  
“More powerful?” Jane questions, not quite sure she heard that right. Sam nods in response, confirming her fears. “How?”  
“Well it doesn’t need to possess someone anymore, it can just wreck havoc on it’s own.”  
“Oh.” She said, blinking a few times. “And why is that a good thing?” She pratically shouts the last part, to tired and annoyed to care who hears.  
“Because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all.” Finally she gets in, nodding along in time with Dean.  
“Well first things first we gotta find it,” he points out, standing up and taking out his wonder of an EMF meter. He then begins pacing down the aisle, swinging his thing back and forth. So far it looks like he’s recovered nothing but strange looks. When passes by them again Jane takes the opportunity to scare him, slapping his leg when he’s turned around. He startles and slaps her arm away, frowning. “Don't do that,” he mutters.  
“You got anything?” Sam asks, back to business as always. Dean sighs and sits back down, defeat layering all his features.  
“Nope, nothing. How much time do we have?”  
“Fifteen minutes.” Yeah, this just keeps getting better. Jane’s not really that scared of dying, it’s bound to happen sooner or later-probably sooner knowing their line of work-but going down in a plane is definitely not on her Top 10 list of ways she want to die. Eh, at least she’ll be with both of her brothers. That’s a win.  
“Maybe we missed somebody,” she reasons. Dean shakes his head.  
“Or maybe the thing’s just not on the damn plane!” He whisper-shouts. Jane scowls and focuses out the window. The view is still beautiful, even as they’re minutes from dying. She can faintly hear her brother still fighting behind her, but none of it is important. The lights, they’re important. Scratch that, maybe she is a little afraid of dying after all. She leans her head onto Sam’s shoulder when he stands up, causing her to fall over.  
“What is it?” She whispers. But just she asks, the co-pilot turns his head around from the front of the plane where he was standing, and his eyes turn black. It’s coupled with the slight whine from the EMF meter, and all their fears are confirmed.  
The demon is flying the plane.  
*********  
“She's not gonna believe this,” Sam complains as they make their way to the back of the plane.  
“I don’t care, we’ve got twelve minutes, dude,” Jane answers, opening the curtain to the stewardess’s area. Amanda smiles when she sees Dean, evidently recognizing him from earlier.  
“Oh, hi!” She greets kindly. “Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope.” She eyes her and Sam warily, but doesn’t do anything, even when they close the curtain and stand by it in a slightly threatening way.  
“Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.”  
“Um, okay,” she begins, stacking some plastic cups orderly Her hands are barely shaking. “What can I do for you three?” Jane sighs and steps forward, knowing that this is where she steps in. This is what she is best at.  
“Okay, I know this sound crazy, but we don't have time for the whole "the truth is out there" speech right now. We know you were on flight 2485.” Amanda drops the cup she was holding, making it clatter to the ground with a plastic fwoop sound. Her faked smile evaporates and her face turns as white as a sheet.  
“Who are you guys?” She asks, her voice low and tense. Jane can tell she’s a few seconds away from either a panic attack or screaming at them until they leave. Maybe both.  
“Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure,” Sam says. His voice is softer than usual, trying to make this whole scenario a little less fucked up for her. It doesn’t seem to work. “We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. On this plane.”  
“I'm sorry,” she stutters, trying to walk back towards the cabin. “I—I'm very busy. I have to go back-” Dean stops her, gently holding out a hand. She ends up actually halting voluntarily, so Dean’s gesture is a little less creepy.  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?” He puts his hands up like she could do anything to hurt him. “But listen to me, uh...The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead.”  
Amanda’s face pales even more, to the point where she looks sick. “Wait what?” She asks, disbelief lacing her voice. “Chuck is dead?”  
“He died in a plane crash,” Jane responds calmly, trying o keep her face sympathetic and not at all as frustrated and desperate she feels. “That's two plane crashes in two months. That’s not normal gotta admit.” She nods a bit, rubbing her hand with her face. Jane decides that if Dean had more time he’d probably try to hook up with her. “There was something wrong with flight 2485,” she continues. “And there’s something wrong with this flight too.”  
“Amanda, you have to believe us.” Sam’s practically begging, and that’s not something he does often. Amanda’s eyes glaze over, apparently remembering some past trauma.  
“On...on 2485, there was this man. He...had these eyes.”  
“Yes, yes!” Dean exclaims, almost excitedly. “That's exactly what we're talking about.”  
“I don't understand though, what are you asking me to do?” She asks, finally giving into the situation. With like, 8 minutes left.  
“Okay,” Sam answers. “The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.”  
“Why? What does he have to do with anything?”  
“Look, we don’t have time to explain, we just need to talk to him,” Jane reasons. Amanda takes a shaky breath and nods again.  
“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot-”  
“Do whatever it takes,” Sam responds, obviously losing his patience. For good reason, too. “Tell him there's something broken back here, or whatever will get him out of that cockpit.” Amanda’s face hardens and she resists for one final moment.  
“Do you know how much trouble I could get in if-”  
“Okay, well you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't help us out.” Dean snaps, all the patience out the window. Amanda glances back and forth between the three of them for a second, taking in their panic and desperation.  
“Okay,” she responds, stepping out from the curtain and closing her behind her, effectively hiding them from view. The second she leaves Dean takes out the holy water and Jane reaches into her bag for her father’s journal, her fingers finding the old leather bound book easily.  
She hands it to Sam, pointing out the page that she has bookmarked- the exorcism.  
Footsteps are approaching when Dean turns to her, an idea in his eyes. “We need a distraction,” he whispers. Jay can barely hear him. “You go out there and do that thing you did in Arizona.” She nods, smiling slightly. Right as the copilot enters and she can hear Dean restraining him she walks into the middle of the isle. One, two, three.  
She screams. She falls to the ground and begins shaking, letting herself tremble on the ground. Her screams cover up the copilot’s yells of pain, and she kinda just lets the moment happen, pretending that she’s having a pretty severe panic attack. Everyone around her buys it, including the other flight attendant, and all the attention is on her. She can feel someone lift her onto her feet, and someone’s saying something so she counters by talking about how the plane is shrinking and she can see the man who was talking’s eyes realize that she’s crazy.  
Suddenly, the plane dips, and all of Jane’s fake panic becomes real. In a flash she runs behind the curtain, ignoring the crazy scene in front of her. The copilot is limp on the floor, burns covering his chest. Dean is shouting something about the demon being in the plane, but all she can feel is it lurching and dipping crazily. Sam looks unfocused and confused, but Dean nudges him and tells him to finish the chant, grabbing her and pulling her into a corner as the plane continues to weave and dive.  
So Jane just holds onto her brother as tight as possible and blocks out the people screaming, and focuses on Sam chanting, and for a few seconds she might be okay with dying.  
And then the plane stops, and Jane realizes she can breathe.  
*********  
Amanda thanks them on the way out of the airport, smiling and mouthing the words. Dean nods and walks back out, frowning at the whole building. Jane chuckles “You survive this and you’re still scared of flying?”  
“Let's just get out of here,” he responds, shoving open the glass doors. Sam follows behind, an expression of something resembling hate and discomfort.  
“You okay?” Jane asks, leaning against him gently. He stops and turns to face her.  
“Jay, it knew about Jessica.” Oh.  
“Sam, these things can read minds. He was probably lying, that’s it.” She tries to believe it, she really does, but she can’t quite. It feels too right, too accurate. Sam nods sheepishly and continues walking, joining Dean. He’s currently being thanked by Jerry as he stands and smiles.  
He shakes both of their hands and smiles, still completely ignoring Jane’s presence.  
“Your dad's gonna be real proud of you boys,” He says, smiling widely. Sam nods and bids him goodbye, grabbing Jane’s arm but Dean stops them with one more question.  
“I was meaning to ask, but how did you get my cell phone number anyway? It’s a new phone, just six months old.”  
“Your Dad gave it to me.” Jane’s jaw nearly hits the floor.  
“What?” they all ask in unison. “When did you talk to him?” Jane asks, taking a step forward so Jerry has no choice but to address her right on. He does, but looks uncomfortable doing so.  
“I mean, I didn’t exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message directed me to you. Thanks again, guys.” Her brothers walk off, their faces numb with shock, but Jane has one more thing to say.  
“You’re welcome you sonovabitch.”  
*********  
“This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179, or my daughter: 785-748-0097. They can help.”


	5. Bloody Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings-some gore (nothing crazy), language, death, suicide mentions, mentions of murder, bloody mary (duh), liquified eyes, Nancy Drew
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

Driving is supposed to be relaxing. Supposed to. But when you have a brother that has nightmares every 20 seconds, it can cause some issues. Currently Sam’s rolling back and forth slightly in the passenger seat, letting out small noise every few seconds. Dean finally gives up trying to stop him and just wakes him up, causing him to sit up with a jolt that startles Jane in the backseat.  
He glances around warily, taking in the building they’re parked in front of and the contents of the car, scanning everything like it might hurt him. Finally he sighs and rubs his temples, leaning down in the seat. “I take it I was having a nightmare?” He question.  
“Yeah, another one,” Dean answers, stressing the word ‘another’. It’s probably the 12th he’s gotten this week already. It seems every time his little brother falls asleep he ends up jerking awake. Dean remembers when Sam or Jane would get nightmares when they were little, and he could just hug them and sing Hey Jude and it would all be okay. But that’s not how it works now, and for that he wants to curse at the sky.  
“Hey, at least I got some sleep,” He reasons, always trying to look on the bright side. Jane leans forward and rests her chin on it’s familiar spot on Dean’s shoulder. It rests there whenever she wants to talk with them. At first he hated it, but he’s grown to like the weight of her head-it’s not much anyway.  
“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this,” She says, raising her eyebrows in an almost accusing manner. Sam just shakes his head and glances out the window, turning his attention to the case ahead of them.  
“Are we here?  
“Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.” He wants to add something about how it’s a total armpit, but he figures that’s a given. Most places they go to are.  
He can hear the rustling of a newspaper in the backseat, meaning that Jane is going over the obituary of Steven Shoemaker for the thousandth time today. Really, what else does she think they’re going to get from it?  
“So what do we think really happened to this guy?” She asks, her eyes skimming over the black font. He knows it by heart at this point-eyes turned to mush, no struggle, ruled a freak accident, etc etc.  
“That’s what we're gonna find out,” he answers, swinging his legs out of the car. “Let’s go.”  
*********  
Dean has a mental list of places that make Jane scared-mental because it’s not very long-and a morgue is definitely one of them. She can shoot a ghost in the face no problem, but she really doesn’t like seeing actual dead bodies. That’s why he offers to leave her in the car, but she makes a comment about how she’s not a dog and follows them, stubborn as ever.  
The technician sitting at the desk is not a good looking man, Dean has to admit. He also looks a little bit pissed at him showing up, which is never a good sing. “Hey,” he greets, looking like he’s ready to throw them out at a minutes notice. “Can I help you?”  
“Yeah. We're the, uh...med students.” He fibs, gesturing at Sam. He doesn’t yet have an alibi for Jane, but technically she could be a med student-she’s got the brains-so he figures she could prove it if need be. Luckily the tech doesn’t even glance her way.  
“Sorry?” He asks, his eyebrows raising.  
“Oh, uh,” He glances around, looking for anything that can make his story seem more believable. He settles on the nametag sitting on the opposite side of the room. “Doctor Figlavitch didn’t tell you?” Dean stumbles over the name a bit, but hopes he got it at least somewhat close. “We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State. He’s supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It’s for our uh…” Think Dean, think. What do college students do? “Paper.”  
“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch,” the tech answers, nodding apologetically and looking back at his computer.  
“Oh okay then. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”  
He forces a smile and gives them an equally fake sympathetic look. “Sorry, I can't. Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.” Yeah, that’s not a thing that’s gonna happen.  
“An hour?” He questions, trying not to sound too rude. He figures he’s allowed to be a little rude. “We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then.” He looks at his siblings for approval, and they both give the least convincing little nods Dean has ever seen them give. Great, this is going really well.  
“Look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out-”  
“Uh, look, man,” he begins, and for a second Dean thinks this might go his way. “No!” the tech finally bites giving another of those fake-ass smiles he seems to love tossing around.  
Dean forces himself to laugh a little, gritting his teeth through the pain. He 180’s for a second, turning back and mumbling something to Jane and Sam. “I’m gonna hit him in his face, I swear to god-”  
Jane begins saying something, probably to cool him down (which is usually his job), but Sam steps forward and places a wad of cash on the counter. It’s gotta be at least a hundred dollars, and suddenly Dean doesn’t know who he wants to punch more-Sam or the morgue technician.  
He settles on neither when the man skims through the bills and then stands up, motioning towards a door. “Follow me.”  
But before Dean follows him though, he turns around to reprimand his little brother. “Dude, I earned that money.”  
“You cheated it out of a poker game,” Jane corrects, skimming past him and strolling into the morgue without looking back.  
“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him,” Sam confirms once they’re in the room. The mortician is pulling a body out of one of the containers, carefully checking that it’s the right one. “She said his eyes were bleeding.”  
“More than that,” he jokes, lifting the sheet off of his face. It’s cold and white and like a normal dead body, except for one thing. His eyes. “They practically liquefied.”  
“Any sign of a struggle?” Jane asks, removing the familiar composition notebook from her bag. “Maybe somebody did it to him?”  
“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone.”  
“What's the official cause of death, then?” Sam questions, scanning the body. His forehead wrinkles slightly. Even Dean has to admit, it is pretty creepy.  
“Well the Doc's not sure,” the mortician says, scratching his head slightly. “He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure,” he continues, motioning towards his brain. Dean isn’t following.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Intense cerebral bleeding.” Jane speaks for the man, her brain already working a mile a minute. Dean can’t tell whether he’s annoyed or impressed. Maybe both? “This guy’s got to have had a shit ton of blood in his skull for this to happen.”  
“So the eyes and the blood-what could cause something like this?”  
“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the man tries. Anyone could tell he didn’t quite believe his own words.  
“Yeah?” Dean asks, restraining a laugh. “You ever see exploding eyeballs?”  
“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.” He holds up his hands and shrugs in an overly comical way, forcing out a laugh.  
“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report?” Jane asks, looking up from her writing for a split second to make eye contact. “For our uh, paper?”  
“I'm not really supposed to show you that,” the older man says, glancing back down at Sam’s pocket. He sighs and takes out his wallet.  
*********  
“Might not be one of ours,” Sam reasons, his feet making dull thudding noises on the hospital stairs. “Might just be some freak medical thing.”  
“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Jane counters, throwing her jacket over her shoulder casually. It’s a warm day for mid-October.  
“Almost never,” Dean answers, finishing his sister’s tangent seamlessly. Spend four years with only two people and you get to know them pretty well: almost too well. Sam sighs and restrains a laugh at their antics.  
The door opens with a loud swoosh, releasing the three into the open air and sunlight. “Right then, let’s go talk to the daughter.”  
*********  
Turns out Dean picked the absolute worst day to visit the Shoemaker’s, because today is the funeral. Sam, Dean, and Jane walk into a house filled with people in tuxes and black dresses dressed in jeans and flannels. Real classy, I know.  
“I feel like we’re underdressed,” Jane whispers when they enter the house. Dean almost laughs, but restrains himself. This is a serious environment. They wander into the backyard where a few girls sit huddled together. One of them-who Dean assumes is Donna-is crying the hardest while Donna’s sister Lily Shoemaker sits to the side, just batting her eyes and staring at the grass. There are two other girls around Donna’s age sitting there, one a younger blonde and another an older brunette. They both are comforting Donna, all fake smiles and soft touches. Ugh, girls.  
“You must be Donna, right?” He asks, sitting on a bench across from them. She nods shakily but barely looks up. Dean can see the blonde looking at him suspiciously. She might be a problem.  
“We’re really sorry,” Sam continues in a soft voice. “I’m Sam, this is Dean and Jane. We worked with your dad.” Donna glances at them again, a little more accusatory.  
“You did?” She asks shakily.  
“Yeah,” Dean confirms. “This whole thing, I mean, a stroke-“  
“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” the blonde cuts off quickly, obviously a firecracker. She raises her eyebrows and stares at them accuesedly, as if she’s trying to will them to walk away. Dean stands his ground, and apparently Donna does too.  
“It's okay. I'm okay,” She comforts, turning back to them and forcing back a few tears. Great, at least she’s cooperative.  
“Were there any symptoms?” Jane asks, smiling slightly. Her fingers are twitching, a sure sign that she wants to be writing right now, but she can’t. They agreed to leave the notebook in the car on the grounds that it would look weird to take case notes at a funeral. “Dizziness? Migraines?”  
“No,” Donna answers. She looks like she’s about to continue when the little girl sits up and looks at them, her eyes wide and blue. She looks scared and also…ashamed?  
“That's because it wasn't a stroke.” She states.  
“Lily, don't say that!” Donna scolds weakly, but it’s too late. Already all three Winchesters are leaning forward, eager to hear what comes next.  
“What?” Sam asks, politely hoping for more information.  
“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” Donna tries again, grabbing on to Lily’s arm, but she shrugs it away and continues speaking, her eyes widening with every word.  
“No, it happened because of me!” She insists, tears pooling in her giant eyes. Donna tries to shush her again but Jane is on the case, leaning down and looking into Lily’s eyes to get her to say more.  
“Why would you say something like that?” She asks, putting on that special voice she uses for little kids. This girl can’t be younger than 9, so she’s definitely not the usual target for said voice, but it seems to do it’s job.  
Lily’s voice lowers even more. “Right before he died, I said it.”  
“You said what?”  
“Bloody Mary,” she answers, her voice shaking slightly. “Three times in the bathroom mirror.” Lily leans even closer to Jane, so that Dean has to move himself so he can hear what she says. “She took his eyes. That’s what she does.”  
“That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault!” Donna insists again, pulling Lily back so she’s sitting normally and wrapping her arm around her small shoulders. Dean doesn’t know whether it’s for Lily’s benefit or hers, but he gets it.  
“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Sam assures, doing a similar thing to Jane minus the cuddling. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”  
Lily sniffs and thinks this through. “No, I don't think so.”  
*********  
“The Bloody Mary legend...Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?” Sam asks while they wander into the bathroom where Steven died. There’s still a bit of blood in the floor, evidence of the terrible and weird thing that happened here.  
“Not that I know of.” Dean stoops down and touches at the blood. He doesn’t quite know why-he knows what he’ll feel. Tile, maybe a little bit of some dried gunk. He still feels the need to touch it though, to feel what this dead man left behind.  
“I mean all over the country kids play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.” Jane answers, shrugging slightly. She begins searching the room for something that isn’t there, her fingers still twitching a little bit.  
“Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it's just a story, but here it's actually happening,” Dean proposes, walking over to the bathroom mirror. Maybe this is where she was “summoned”? he thinks, looking for any abnormalities.  
Jane scrubs at some gunk on the counter. “The place where the legend began?”  
Dean shrugs and opens the mirror to reveal the medicine cabinet inside, pointing it towards Sam once he decides it’s a normal mirror. “But according to the legend, the person who says B-” he glances at the mirror facing him and slams it shut with a glare. “The person who says ‘you know’ get’s it. But in this case-“  
“Shoemaker gets it instead,” Dean finishes, slamming the mirror shut once again and leaning against the curtain. All three of them are careful not to step on the dried blood.  
“Never heard anything like that before,” Jane says, beginning to braid a chunk of her hair. This case must be stressing her out then. “Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter is right. The way the legend goes, you know who takes your eyes.” She shrugs, not yet willing to count it out as an option.  
“It’s worth checking into,” Sam agrees, glancing out the window.  
“What are you three doing up here?” Uh…shit. The blonde from earlier is standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and eyes burning holes through Dean’s face.  
“We—we had to go to the bathroom,” He covers, mentally wincing at his pathetic attempt. The physical reaction from the girl confirms his thoughts.  
“Who are you?” She demands.  
“Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”  
“He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.” Yeah that is…what day traders do. This situation is just going downhill very quickly. Jane’s finished her braid now, so she has one section of her hair neatly plaited while the rest stays crazy as usual. Her fingers twitch.  
“No, I know, I meant-”  
“And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that?” She’s definitely not confused, more angry. She has a right too. Her best friend’s dad’s funeral was crashed by two guys and a teenage girl that have no relation to the deceased. And no good cover stories, apparently. “So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”  
“All right, all right,” Sam practically yells. He sticks his hands up in the air and takes a few steps forward, turning on his patented puppy dog eyes. The girl only softens a bit. “We think something happened to Donna's dad.”  
“Yeah, a stroke,” she answers with an eye roll.  
“That's not a sign of a typical stroke,” Jane says, pointing down at the dried blood. The girl sees it and steps away, as if realizing for the first time where they are. “We think it might be something else.” The blonde freezes slightly, but covers it well. She crosses her arms across her chest and juts out a hip in a way that would be hot if they weren’t thirty seconds away from being kicked out of the house.  
“Like what?’”  
“Honestly? We don't know yet,” Jane answers with a little sigh. Her fingers reach up and she begins playing with the tips of her hair. “But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth, 100%.”  
“So, if you're gonna scream,” Dean finishes in a way he hopes isn’t too threatening. “Go right ahead.” She glances between the three, eyeing them all up and down. Jane stops her hair touches and stares her back.  
“Who are you, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys?” Dean glances over his shoulder at Sam and Jane. He knows Jane’s always loved those books, so he decides to go with it and accept the semi-insult.  
“Yeah, something like that.”  
“I'll tell you what. Here,” Sam says, pulling a paper and pen out of his pocket. Jane stares at him with mock hatred, shocked at the realization she could have been taking notes this whole time. “You or any of your friends notice anything out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He finishes writing his number with a flourish and hands her the paper, which she accepts gingerly  
With that the three exit the bathroom, only stopping when Jane whips around. “What’s you name anyway? I didn’t catch it.”  
The blonde smiles slightly. “Charlie. Have a nice day Nancy Drew.” Jane’s smile grows even more as she offers a peace sign and flips around, beginning to undo her braid.  
*********  
Libraries are not usually Dean’s favorite place, but whenever Jane walks into one her face lights up, and they make research easier, so he’s made his peace over the years. This one however, is much too dark, and the librarian isn’t even hot.  
“All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” he proposes, spinning around to face his siblings and praying he doesn’t walk into a bookshelf. “There's gonna be some sort of proof—Like a local woman who died nasty.”  
“Yeah but a legend this widespread is hard,” Jane counters. Her eyes are unfocused as she stares at the rows and rows of books. “I mean, there's like 50 versions of who she actually is. One says she's a witch, one says she's a mutilated bride, there's tons.” Her finger begins to skim the paperbacks lazily.  
“All right so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean says, probably louder than is allowed but it does the trick and Jane snaps back to attention. Sam finishes her tangent for her.  
“Well every version’s got a few things in common. It’s always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we’ve gotta search public records, local newspapers, as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.” They round the corner into the non—fiction section, following the signs to the computers.  
“Well that sounds annoying,” Dean grumbles, pushing his shoulder into a door to open it.  
“It won’t be that bad,” Jane begins. “As long as we…” She trails off once she sees the computers. Out of order. All of them. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”  
*********  
Sam is having another nightmare in their crappy motel room, but this time Dean is willing to let him stay asleep just so he can get some shut eye in. He only gets a few hours a night and with the amount of crazy they’re dealing with, it’s not safe to be sleep-deprived. And he cares about him, but that’s not really relevant.  
He ends up waking up on his own accord, letting out a final ‘no’ and sitting up straight, glancing at him doing research and his sister lazily reading a (stolen) book from the library on the other bed. He does his signature slouch. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”  
“I wanted to wake you up,” Jane grumbles, but says nothing more.  
“I let you sleep ‘cause I'm an awesome brother,” Dean counters, restraining his current urge to slap her across the face and settling for an elbow nudge. “So what did you dream about?” He asks casually.  
“Lollipops and candy canes,” is the sarcastic answer he’s given. Both of the siblings were hoping to get a straight answer this time, maybe get him to tell the truth and talk about, but instead the get this.  
“Oh yeah, sure.” Jane deadpans, turning a page wordlessly.  
”Did you find anything?” Sam continues, rubbing his eyes and letting out a half-assed yawn.  
“Oh besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean says, giving a glare to his sister. Jane has done approximately 30 seconds of work this whole time, but he just doesn’t have it in himself to make her. He knows Dad would, but Dean just wants to let her be a lazy kid for a bit longer. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but uh, no Mary.”  
Sam falls backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like it might have their answer. “Maybe we just haven't found it yet.”  
“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know...eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing.” He continues, his frustration filling his tone. “Whatever's happening here, it just ain't Mary.”  
He’s interrupted by Sam’s cell phone ringing. Jane tosses him the phone, which was sitting on her bedside table, and he looks at the screen. Dean can tell by the expression that Sam doesn’t know who it is, but he answers anyway. “Hello?”  
In a second flat his facial expression changes to confused and terrified.  
********  
“They found her on the bathroom floor,” Charlie sobs. Jane’s taken to comforting her, being as she was the only one the blonde didn’t flinch away from. “And her—her eyes. They were gone.”  
“I'm sorry,” Sam says. Comforting someone over the loss of their friend is hard, but some days Sam seems to have a way with his words that helps at even the hardest cases. Today is not one of those days.  
From what Dean has gathered-which isn’t much being that Charlie has mostly just sat on the bench and sobbed-Jill, the other girl from the party, had died. No eyes, same exact crime scene as Steven Shoemaker.  
“And she said it,” Charlie admits with a sense of finality. Jane’s eyes instantly flick up to Dean’s, silently confirming their fears. “I heard her say it.” The poor girls sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. “But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”  
“No, you're not insane,” Dean tries, offering a polite smile. Her tears just fall harder.  
“Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse.” Jane rubs a hand up her back in a way Dean assumes is meant to be comforting. She leans into it slightly as Sam bends down to her level.  
“Look, we think something’s happening here. Something that can’t be explained.”  
“And we want to stop it,” Jane continues, her eyes seeming to bear into Charlie’s soul. “But we need your help.”  
*********  
Climbing up the side of a house is no easy task, but Dean likes to think he handled it pretty well. Charlie opens the window to Jill’s room with a click, and the three climb in gracefully as possible, Dean throwing a duffle with supplies onto the floor.  
“What did you tell Jill’s mom?” Sam questions, glancing around at the room. Normal teenage girl stuff as far as anyone can tell. It barely even looks like a murder scene.  
“Just that I needed some alone time with Jill’s pictures and things.” Dean closes the curtains, making the room darker and blocking them from neighbor’s view at the same time. Jane grabs the black light from the bag and starts to turn it on. “I hate lying to her.”  
“Trust us, this is for the greater good,” Dean says, grabbing the light from Jane. He motions to Sam. “Hit the lights.”  
“What are you guys looking for?” Charlie asks once the room is completely dark. He can hear her sit down on the bed, careful not to hit anything.  
“We don’t exactly know,” Jane confesses, sitting down on the bed next to her. Ever since Charlie’s Nancy Drew crack she seems to have taken a liking to her.  
Dean can hear Sam powering up the night vision on his camera. He gestures him over to the closet mirror, which he examines while he begins a rant. “So I don’t get it. I mean…the first victim didn’t summon Mary, and the second one did. How’s she choosing them?”  
“Beats me.” Dean shrugs as Sam closes the closet door and heads to the bathroom. “I just want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”  
“It's just a joke,” Charlie responds, curling up into herself guiltily. Jane pats her on the back.  
“Yeah, well somebody’s gonna say it again, it’s just a matter of time.”  
“Hey,” Sam calls from the bathroom. “Jay, Dean get in here.” They quickly hurry into the small room, looking where Sam is pointing. He’s removed the mirror from the wall and flipped it over, peeling off the paper. On the backside of the mirror, written in something only a black light can detect, is two words.  
Gary Bryman.  
*********  
“So,” Sam begins, coming up to the bench Dean was sitting on with the two girls. “Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy. Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry, but nobody got the plates or saw the driver.”  
“Oh my God,” Charlie gasps, covering her mouth with her hand as a fresh batch of tears well in her eyes. “Jill drove that car.”  
“We need to get back to your friend Donna's house,” Jane announces, glancing at her brothers for approval. They nod in unison.  
Getting into Donna’s house is pretty easy, as Charlie is let in easily and she just unlocks the window for the Winchesters. It’s also easy to find the name in the mirror-Linda Shoemaker.  
*********  
“Why are you asking me this?” Donna questions, leaning back into her couch. Jane fixes her with an apologetic stare.  
“Look, we're sorry, but it's important,” She says, leaning forwards slightly.  
“Yeah okay,” Donna sighs, leaning into Charlie slightly. “Linda’s my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident and that’s it.” Jane nods and scribbles something down, too concerned to care about subtlety now. Donna frowns. “I really think you guys should leave,” she says, beginning to walk up the stairs.  
“Now Donna, just listen,” Dean tries, but apparently it was the wrong thing to say and Donna just yells at them to get out of her house and slams a door upstairs.  
Charlie rises to her feet shakily. “Oh my god,” She mutters, covering her mouth in a way that Dean has learned she does a lot. “Do you really think her dad could’ve killed her mom.  
Sam shrugs and looks at her apologetically. “Maybe, I don’t know.” Charlie nods and takes a breath, motioning to upstairs.  
“I think maybe I should stick around.”  
“Good idea,” Jane agrees with another kind smile. “Just whatever you do, don’t-”  
“Believe me,” Charlie says with a morbid laugh. “I won’t say it.”  
*********  
Dean thought that their current strategy of looking for local Mary deaths was going well, but evidently his little sister disagreed. He leaned over to her computer for a split second to make sure she wasn’t playing dress up games or whatever teenage girls do, and saw that she was conducting her own nationwide investigation.  
“Wait, wait, wait,” He pauses, swinging his chair next to hers. “You’re doing a nationwide search?” Jane shrugs and begins typing away again.  
“Yep. The NCIC, the FBI-at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.” Sam furrows his brow at the conversation.  
“But if she’s haunting the town, she should have died in the town,” He reasons, connecting the facts they had previously agreed upon.  
“Sammy, there’s nothing local.” She buries her head in her hands with an exasperated sigh. “Trust me, I’ve checked a bajillion times. So unless you’ve got a better idea, be my guest.“ Sam seems to agree with her logic and shrugs, choosing to believe it for now. Dean’s got other things on his mind.  
“The way Mary’s choosing her victims,” he begins, “it seems like there’s a pattern.” Jane gives a silent thumbs up as Sam begins taking, her own way of affirmation without vocals.  
“I know, I thought the same thing. With Mr. Shoemaker and Jill’s hit and run.”  
“Both had secrets where people died,” Dean finishes.  
“I mean there's loads of folklore about mirrors-that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them.”  
“So maybe,” Jane spins in her chair lazily, finally deciding to join this portion of the conversation. “If you've got a secret, like a really nasty one where someone died or some shit, then Mary sees it and punishes you for it.”  
“Whether you're the one that summoned her or not,” Dean finishes. Jane nods and turns her computer around so they can see.  
“Take a look at this.” The picture she shows is a dead body in front of the mirror. It’s a woman, and there’s a bloody handprint on the glass.  
“Looks like the same handprint,” Sam mutters while examining the picture-but that’s not even the most interesting part. On the corner of the mirror, right where the corpse lies is three letters, as if she’s started spelling out something. T R E-  
“Her name was Mary Worthington—an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana,” Jane says, clicking her pen. “Let’s say we go talk to someone who solved it.”  
*********  
“I was on the job for 35 years-detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder—that one still gets me,” The detective explains, shuddering slightly at the mention of her name. He’s a pudgy man, wears glasses that are a bit too big for his face, and has a few strands of hair he seems to be very proud of. Dean likes him almost instantly.  
“What exactly happened?” Jane questions, her pen resting on the paper. The detective squints.  
“You kids said you were reporters?” Jane nods and mumbles something about the school newspaper and writes down something Dean can’t see. The older man seems to deem it okay though, as nods slightly.  
“We know Mary was 19, lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana and becoming an actress,” Sam says, listing off the things on his fingers. “And we know on the night or March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife.”  
“That's right,” the detective confirms, looking slightly impressed.  
“See sir,” Sam continues, “When we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what you think happened.” The man stands still for a second, looking the three over before he goes to the back room of his station, grabbing a file from an old run-down cabinet.  
“Technically,” he begins, slapping the file onto the counter dividing them, “I'm not supposed to have a copy of this.” He opens the file and pulls out the photo Jane had pulled up from earlier. “Now see that there? T-R-E?” All three nod slightly, their eyes all trained on the photo. “I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer.”  
Jane looks up, her eyebrows raised in some morbid type of curiosity. “Do you know who it was?”  
“Not for sure,” He admits before leaning in close. “But there was a local man, a surgeon-Trevor Sampson. And I think her cut her up good.”  
“Now why would he do something like that?” Dean asks, leaning forward an equal amount.  
“Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, "T",” Dean nods, following. “Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell "T's” wife about their affair.” Yeah, that would do it, Dean thinks. Another thing is still itching in his mind though, keeping him from fully agreeing with the theory.  
“Yeah, but how do you know it was Sampson who killed her?”  
“It's hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out...it was almost professional.” Professional. The only person who is a professional in cutting out people’s eyeballs would be a surgeon.  
“But you could never prove it?” Sam confirms. The detective sighs sadly, as if he personally knew Mary. In a passing thought, Dean thinks he might’ve. Then again, maybe he was just a good detective.  
“Nope. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous.”  
“Is he still alive?” Dean asks  
“Nope.” He sits down a sighs again. “If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret. But she never could.” Jane looks down, the sadness getting to her. That’s one of the things Dean admires about her-she can sympathize with any situation, no matter how detached from it she is.  
“Where's she buried?” Sam questions. But of course, there’s no easy answer.  
“She wasn’t. Cremated.”  
“What about that mirror?” Jane tries, motioning to the one in the photo. It’s a pretty thing, with fancy engraved gold lining around the mirror itself. It looks like it should be in a mansion or something. “Is it in an evidence lockup or something?”  
“No.” He confesses. “It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago.” Dean shrugs. They can work with that.  
“Do you have the names of the family by any chance?”  
*********  
“Oh really?” Sam questions with loads of fake sadness. It’s visible from a mile away. “That’s too bad Mr. Worthington, I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time.” Next time? As if there would be a next time.  
Sam hangs up and drops the phone on the dashboard, sighing slightly. Jane raises her eyebrows expectantly. “So?”  
“So that was Mary's brother,” Sam announces, leaning back in his seat. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.” He finishes. Dean nods along with him, the whole story finally clicking and coming together.  
“So wherever the mirror goes, that’s where Mary goes?”  
“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam answers, never one to tie down all their options. “Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?”  
“Yeah there is,” Jane answers, her attention suddenly enraptured by the conversation. Of course she would be into this stuff. The actual monsters and creatures weren’t what she loved about hunting-it was the lore. The old legends, the fairy tales. Dean would never ever read her notebook, but when he glances at it its always filled with stories and fables-some she wrote, some she’s researching. “When someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn’t get trapped.”  
“So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit,” Dean concludes.  
“I guess,” Jane agrees. She checks her notes for a second before looking back up. “But how could she move through like, a hundred different mirrors?”  
Dean shrugs. He’s not too interested in the ‘how’ or ‘why’ parts of this case, more the ‘how-do-we-stop-this-spirit-from-killing-someone-again’ parts. “I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”  
“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam agrees, fiddling with his phone again. As if on cue, it rings it’s loud noise. One glance at the screen and he tosses it back to Jane. “It’s Charlie. You handle it.” She nods and answers the call.  
Just like Sam’s did earlier, her face changes from contempt to fear in a second flat. Dean presses on the accelerator just as fast.  
*********  
They end up taking Charlie to the hotel room they were staying in, deciding that’s a safe enough place to keep her. The girl instantly sits on Sam’s bed and draws her face to her knees, shutting her eyes and rocking slightly. Jane sits next to her and comforts her, whispering kind words and reassurance as Dean and Sam dash around the room covering up anything that even remotely resembles a mirror. Finally they deem it okay and sit down next to her.  
“You can open up your eyes now,” Sam announces. Charlie lifts up her head slowly, like a turtle crawling out of her shell. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for the woman who was chasing her, but they never find her. They can’t, it’s impossible. “Now listen, you’re gonna stay right here on the bed okay? And you’re not gonna look at glass or anything else that has a reflection. As long as you do that, she cannot,” he punctuates last word with a certainty he’s not so sure is correct, “get you.”  
“But I can’t keep that up forever!” She cries, setting her head on her knees. “I’m gonna die, aren’t I.” Jane chuckles slightly and smiles, trust practically radiating off of her.  
“No. Not anytime soon.”  
Dean sighs and sits down on the bed, ready to get to the hard part of the conversation. The part that the might not get her to talk about. “Alright, Charlie, we need to know. What happened.” She just sighs in response.  
“We were in the school bathroom, Donna said it.”  
“That's not what we're talking about,” he corrects, grimacing. She doesn’t even know what they’re talking about, and for some reason that makes him feel so much worse. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life...a secret...where someone got hurt.” He tries to put it as delicately as possible, but there’s no way to not sound slightly judgmental when he says it. “Can you tell us about it?”  
Charlie sighs again and sits up straighter, wiping her hand with the back of her eyes. She takes a deep breath, as if to inhale courage, and begins. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him.” Her face is balanced somewhere between sadness, love, and guilt. “But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said ‘Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself.’ And you know what I said?” She lets out a choked sob. Dean can guess where this is going already, not quite wanting to hear the rest. “I said ‘Go ahead.’ And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know?”  
Sam looks calm, placid as he takes this in, while Jane looks torn up about it, as if it’s her fault. Somehow Dean knows this will be another nightmare case for her-one that will appear again weeks later. She’ll wake up panting and sweating, and she’ll climb into bed with either him or Sam and just fall asleep there. It’s childish, and Dean remembers how Dad would always tell her to just go back to sleep, but he could never bring himself to turn her away.  
Dean doesn’t turn his face away from Charlie.  
*********  
“You know her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean rationalizes. He doesn’t quite know whether he’s talking to Charlie, himself, or Jane, but they all need to hear it.  
“You know as well as I do spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean.” Sam rationalizes, his eyes foggy against the window. Dean doesn’t even need to look at him to know. “Charlie had a secret, someone died, that's good enough for Mary.” Dean shrugs, muttering something kind of affirmative and keeps driving, not willing to take this fight any farther. Jane shifts in the back seat.  
“You know, I've been thinking,” she clears her throat like an old man. “It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well Mary's hard to pin down, right?” She confirms, lazily swinging her hands through the air as if she’s entranced by the motion. She stops after a few seconds, focusing on adding another small braid to her hair. “I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So I say we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”  
Dean frowns. Summon her? “Well how do you know that's going to work?”  
Jane shrugs again, her eyes trained on her hair as her fingers dance through it, creating a small interwoven braid. “I don't.” Sam’s gaze as returned to the window now, but his eyes aren’t glazed over. They’re focused, awake and alive.  
“Well who's gonna summon her?” He follows-up, not liking where this is going.  
“I will.” Jane replies matter-of-factly. “She'll come after me.” Dean nearly snorts.  
“Honey, I know about the solo hunts.” Jane sits up faster than the car is moving, her eyes widening. “You went out when you were in 8th grade, thought it was a salt and burn, it wasn’t, someone died. Dad knew too, I convinced him not to yell at you. You were too broken up about it.” She slouches again, side-eyeing him and staring out the window. “It’s not a secret Jay.”  
Sam shifts again, leaning towards them. He talks so softly Dean can barely hear him. “Okay, then I’ll do it.”  
“Okay, that’s it,” Dean sighs heavily and swerves the car, parking it in the shoulder as fast as he can. He leans over his seat so he’s looking directly at Sam, so he can’t escape. “This is about Jessica, isn't it?” No response. “You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night—it's gonna kill you.” Jane stays staring out the window, pretending she doesn’t hear. “Now listen to me—It wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”  
“I don't blame you,” he mutters. If Dean didn’t know his brother as well as he does, he’d bet Sam was crying.  
“Well you shouldn’t blame yourself, because there’s nothing you could’ve done.” He concludes, shifting the car back into gear.  
“I could've warned her.” He says, and this time it’s Jane who speaks up as Dean drives as calmly as possible-which isn’t very due to the fire in her veins. She sits up so she’s in her face and she speaks with a passionate fire Dean’s only heard her use a few times before-times when some ghost or something tried to mess with him.  
“How could you have warned her Sam! Seriously, you didn’t know it was gonna happen, you didn’t start the goddamn fire.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not even a secret, we know all about it. It's won’t work with Mary, so drop it.”  
“No you don't.”  
Jane laughs that way mothers do in sitcoms, the I’m-so-fed-up-and-done-it’s-almost-funny way. “I don't what?”  
“You don't know all about it. Dean either. I haven't told either of you everything.”  
“What are you talking about?” Dean nearly whispers, trying to keep the car steady on the road. They’ve got a place to be after all.  
“Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” Jane leans back, moaning in agony at her brother’s stubbornness.  
“No.” He states finally. He’s not going to let his little brother put himself in the line of fire. It’s just not how it works-that’s his job. “I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”  
“Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that?” Sam manages to hit that spot in Dean, to find the one thing that could change his mind and Dean hates him for it. “Now I’m doing this. You've got to let me do this.” The begging at the end surprises him, and Dean can’t tell whether Sam meant to let that slip past or not.  
He finally nods.  
*********  
Who would’ve thought that mirrors would be such a hot antiquing item? Breaking into the store isn’t very hard, but finding the correct mirror’s gonna be another story. There’s a room in the back-a whole room-covered head to toe in mirrors. Dean sighs, already looking forward to the beer he can have after this.  
“Let’s start looking.”  
After somewhere between 12-24 minutes-Jane had hummed six full songs-Dean gives up. “Maybe they’ve already sold it?” He tries, watching his siblings flashlights bob throughout the room. Jane’s humming and her light stop abruptly.  
“I don't think so.”  
Dean practically runs over to the mirror, taking out his picture and comparing the two. “That’s it,” He says. His rush of relief is instantly coupled with a rush of fear, remembering that his brother is about to tell some self-sacrificial secret that could possibly get him killed. “You sure about this?” He confirms. Sam cracks his shoulders dramatically and hands him the flashlight.  
“Bloody Mary.” The air seems to stand still. “Bloody Mary.” Sam glances at Jane and then Dean. In a split second decision he grabs the crowbar on the ground and shoves Jane behind him slightly. She just nods and gives him a reassuring smile. “Bloody Mary.”  
As if the universe wanted to twist this story out of order, a light shines in from the window, like headlights or something. Dean curses under his breath and debates for a moment: what would be safer, leaving Jane with Sam or bringing her with him? It’s stupid that something that small leaves him so puzzled, but it does. Because Sam’s not in a position where he can protect him right now, so he protects the other thing.  
He lost his Dad, he’s not gonna loose Jay too.  
He decides on keeping her there with Sam, shoving her towards him and muttering something about how he’ll figure it out. “Stay here, be careful,” he orders, his voice sounding a bit too much like his father for his liking. “Smash anything that moves.”  
Carefully wielding the crowbar, Dean treads into the front room of the store where the source of the light is clear-headlights. Police headlights. They must have tripped a silent alarm or something. He drops the crowbar and sighs, walking outside as calmly and steadily as possible. There’s an officer already waiting for him, leaning against the car lazily. “Hold it,” he orders as soon as Dean comes into view. He forces himself to hold up his hands and give a relaxed chuckle.  
“False alarm guys, I just tripped the system.”  
“Who are you?” the man asks, raising his eyebrow. He looks unimpressed. Dean fishes around for a lie, wanting to get back in that store as fast as possible. The one he settles on is half-assed, but it’ll do.  
“I'm the boss's kid.”  
“You’re Mr. Yamashiro’s kid?” Well shit.  
The officers close in on him quickly, not believing his lie for evident reasons. Dean tries to spout off some story about being adopted, but it’s not landing and to be honest he’s not very surprised. His panic is mounting though, and all he can think about is what’s happening inside that store and how his worst nightmare might be coming true and he might walk in to find them dead, with their eyes bled out, or maybe just Sam and he’d have to face Jane and her crying like she did when he left for Stanford. But now they’re trying to arrest him, so he’s got to handle that first.  
“You know, I really don’t have time for this right now.”  
The cops are either not trained very well, or Dean is getting stronger with adrenaline as they go down surprisingly easily for members of the fuzz.  
He runs back into the room as fast as possible, hoping and praying the whole time that they’re okay, that Jay’s okay, that Sammy’s okay, that everything’s okay.  
He grabs the crowbar on his way back, and without a second glance into the room he takes it and he rams it through the mirror where a female silouette is standing silent, her hair covering her face. It smashes with a loud crash, but Dean doesn’t stay to watch it break apart, turning to see if his sibling are okay.  
Jane’s on the floor, her hands are covering her eyes. Dean can see some blood but he can also see the steady rise and fall of her chest. She must have turned away or closed her eyes or something before it could get too bad. Sam on the other hand, is almost completely still. He’s angled right in front of the mirror, so he had a clear view. There’s more blood there too, dripping down his face like some sick tearstain. He’s also right in front of Jane.  
Maybe she didn’t turn away. Maybe Sam blocked her from view.  
The thought strikes his heart quickly, and for a second Dean realizes that that is the one thing they will always agree on, is protecting her. But Dean also has to protect Sam, and he’s still not moving.  
“Sam!” He cries, gripping him so he can see his face. There’s definitely some movement, but Dean’s in too much of a daze to realize what that means. “Sammy!” He shouts again, and that seems to dislodge something for Sam, his eyes blinking open slowly.  
“It’s Sam.” Dean laughs for a split second before tapping Jane’s shoulder gently. She turns around and sighs when she sees Sam okay and alive, his relief mirrored onto her face.  
“God, are you okay?” She asks, scooting over slightly. Now that he looks closer, Dean can barely see any blood. She escaped it easily, it’s Sam who got the brunt of it.  
“Yeah, you?” He mutters. She just nods in relief, pulling him into a hug for a split second.  
“Come on,” He says, hefting Sam’s arm over his shoulders. His walking and standing is stronger than Dean expects, but then again it was his eyes that got hurt, not his legs.  
They’ve made it approximately two feet when Jane stops in her tracks. “Guys,” she mutters, turning around. Before Dean can comprehend what he’s seeing, his eyes are on fire. It feels like someone put them in a meat grinder, and all he can do is scream and kinda claw at them weakly while he feels his eyes physically liquidate.  
He thinks vaguely that Sam must feel even worse.  
He tries to get to him, but something stops him. Something large and wooden. For a second his eyes stop hurting and he’s able to turn and look-through a thin layer of blood-at Jane, barely holding up a mirror so it’s facing Mary. And then Mary falls, and she dies.  
Dean has to reach up to stop the mirror from falling on top of Jay, as she goes completely limp once Mary disappears. After she gives a small thumbs up and begins moving again, he rolls over to Sam, checking him over. He seems okay too, so Dena allows himself a moment to just lie there, surrounded by broken mirrors (because for some reason almost every one of them is now shattered) and pant.  
“Hey guys?” Jane says. Dean can hear the smile on her face and knows exactly what it looks like too.  
“Yeah?” Him and Sam respond in unison.  
“This has got to be like, what, 600 years of bad luck?”  
*********  
Sam and Jane help each other out of the store, and Dean isn’t sure who’s carrying more weight there. But they look happy, and he’s proud of them, so he lets it go.  
They say goodbye to Charlie a few days later. She thanks them kindly and Sam says some hypocritical shit about how her boyfriend’s death wasn’t her fault, but Dean doesn’t bother bugging him about it that much.  
Sam refuses to tell him what the secret is, claiming it’s the type of thing that he needs to keep to himself. Dean thinks it’s all bullshit, but leaves the constant asking-about to Jane. 

It is a nightmare case. A few days later Jane wakes up screaming, clutching at her eyes and yelling someone’s name Dean doesn’t know. She climbs into bed with him, and she sleeps under his arm. It happens again the next day, except Sam handles it. They never talk about it.  
It’s the only thing they agree upon.


	6. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings-violence (bit more than usual), murder, torture, kinda r*pe implications but nothing really happens, kinda incest implications but nothing happens (shifter comes onto Jane in Dean's body), swearing, gore (the shifter's sheddings), concussions (?), more angst than usual, pool cue being used as a weapon,
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

Dean is a pain in the ass, and Jane is his sidekick. Traveling across the country with them will teach you that. Sam is fine playing along sometimes, dealing with the loud singing and bad jokes, but it comes to a point where he just wants to do his own shit and that causes issues.  
“Alright,” Dean begins, sauntering into the car as Sam continues staring at his phone. “I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” He can see Jane give a silent thumbs-up from where she’s lounging in the backseat and reading her book. Sam chooses to ignore his brother. “Sam wears women’s underwear.”  
Jane laughs from the backseat, full of youth that reminds Sam that she’s still a kid, and Dean slaps her shoulder slightly. “I’ve been listening, I’m just busy,” he explains.  
“Busy doing what?” Jane questions, leaning over the seat and placing her head on his shoulder in the way she always does to Dean. He would be flattered if he wasn’t slightly annoyed.  
“Reading e-mails.” Dean glances over curiously and Sam has to pull his pone away slightly.  
“E-mails from who?”  
“From my friends at Stanford.” Instantly his sibling’s faces morph into ones of confusion and surprise.  
“You’re kidding,” Dean says, his eyebrows raised straight to the sky. “You still keep in touch with your college buddies?”  
“Why not?” He responds with a shrug. He avoids eye contact the whole time, choosing to ignore the slightly pitying look Jane is giving him.  
“Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em?” Dean pries, his tone becoming more reprimanding and accusatory. “You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”  
“I tell them I’m on a road trip with my big brother and baby sister.” Jane’s nose scrunches at the mention, and Sam can’t tell whether it’s disgust or happiness at the new term. Maybe some combination of both? “I tell them I needed some time off after Jess.”  
“Oh, so you lie to them.”  
Sam’s quick to correct him, his defensiveness visible from a mile away. “No, I just don’t tell them…everything.” And it’s true, right? He’s honest with his friends. Mostly honest.  
“Honey, that’s called lying,” Jane says. Sam’s too offended by the words to realize the use of her nickname. “I mean, I get it!” She raises her hands in mock surrender. “Telling the truth is impossible.” She looks almost sad. Sam wonders how many times John had drilled that into her.  
“So then what am I supposed to do?” He asks. “Just cut everybody out of my life?” Dean looks down at his feet and shrugs slightly. Jane stays silent, picking at her nails. “You’re serious?” It’s more of a statement than a question.  
“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.” The truth of the statement hits Sam right in the chest, but it also raises questions. Do him and Jay not count? Or does he need them so much that he’s willing to break his rules?  
“You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?” He tries to avoid the slight sense of dread pooling in his stomach with the type of comment that Dean would make. He just ends up rolling his eyes and starting up the car. Sam goes back to his e-mails, trying to get through one sentence, but he’s stopped again. Not because of his siblings, because he’s too shocked by the contents.  
“Oh my god…” he mutters, not able to make any other sounds but those.  
“What?” Jane asks, obviously picking up on the concern in his tone.  
“The e-mail,” he begins, his mouth not quite making the right words still. “This girl Rebecca Warren, she’s a friend of mine.”  
“Is she hot?” Dean cracks with a smile. It falls when he’s met with only glares.  
“I went to school with her and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charges with murder.” Jane makes a strange noise. “He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it,” he reads off from the old phone. “It sounds like the cops have pretty good case.”  
“Dude,” Jane says, her voice somewhere between concern and a false sense of humor. “What kind of people are you hanging out with?”  
“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.” He defends. Dean shrugs, but Sam can see the slight unease in his eyes.  
“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you,” he tries. It’s a week attempt and does nothing to quell the turning in Sam’s stomach.  
It takes Sam about 0.2 seconds to make up his mind. Once it crosses his brain and he allows himself to consider it, it’s an instant yes. “They’re in St. Louis,” he reads. “We’re going.”  
This time even Jane laughs slightly. It’s a nervous laugh though, like he might combust at any minute. “Look, I’m sorry about your friend, okay?” Dean begins, every word like a light step on a breaking bridge. “But this does not sound like our type of problem.”  
“It is our problem,” he protests, working to keep his voice calm. “They’re my friends.”  
“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Jane reasons. But one look at her tells Sam that she’s on board with this, that she’s ready to turn around. As if she reads his mind, she turns to Dean at the same time he does, fixing him with some form of matching puppy dog eyes. He sighs audibly.  
Ten minutes later they’re on the interstate headed to St. Louis, Missouri.  
*********  
Rebecca wasn’t a super close friend of Sam’s, but she was one of Jessica’s best friends, so he feels like he owed it to her to stay in touch. She’s a nice girl, with a stubborn streak and a big brain-she was on the way to law school too.  
Sam isn’t expecting her to be as happy as she is when they pull up at the door, but it’s a welcome shock. Her smile grows into this big crack in her face and her eyes crinkle up like his Mom’s used to (and Jane’s do sometimes).  
After some hellos his siblings decide that they can’t be in the backseat for too long, so they introduce themselves.  
“Dean. Older brother.”  
“Jane. Baby sister.” So she did like the nickname then.  
Rebecca invites them into the place. It’s pretty, and quite high end for a college student. Dean notices.  
“Nice place,” he says, gesturing up at the ceiling-as if that’s the best part of it. She nods.  
“It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free.” She lifts her chin on the last comment, as if daring the one of them to challenge her loyalty or logic. No one does.  
“Where are your folks?” Jane asks, her fingers trailing across the perfect countertops. The whole thing looks like it’s out of a magazine or something  
“They live in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial.” The stroll through the house leads them directly to the kitchen. Rebecca turns around and opens the door, holding out two bottles. Her other hand is resting on a can of soda. “Do you guys want a beer or a soda or…”  
Dean smile grows and he reaches to take one, but Sam cuts him off with a bitchface he knows could melt the sun. “No thanks. So, tell us what happened.” He sits down on a nearby couch across from her. Jane stays standing while Dean plops own dramatically.  
“Well, Zack cam home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Rebecca starts to cry slightly, but sucks it up and continues her story, trying to make the whole thing seem normal and okay. “So he called 911, and the police showed up and they arrested him.” She takes another deep breath, steadying her voice. The sadness seems to be repurposed into anger when she speaks again. “But the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at once. The police have a video. It’s from the security tape across the street. It shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Emily was killed just after that, but I swear he was here with me,” she demands. She seems like she’s trying to prove herself, and it hurts Sam’s heart a bit. She just needs someone to believe her.  
“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene.” He tries. He’s hoping it’ll make her feel better but it barely seems to make a dent. She just seems more confused.  
“Why? I mean, what could you do?”  
Jane looks up and smiles slightly, some sneaky idea of hers crawling into her head. “Well he can’t, but Dean’s a cop.” Dean laughs at this, loud and barking, a reaction he’s unable to control. After a few seconds he clears his throat and corrects himself, leaning against the armrest casually.  
“Detective actually,” he corrects. Jane makes a mocking gesture that Rebecca misses. “And Jane here helps me out.” She smiles at that, and leans into him slightly.  
“Really?” She asks, her eyes wider and hopeful. “Where?”  
“Bisbee, Arizona,” he lies, looking out the window like he’s missing his homeland. “But I’m off-duty now.” Her eyes widen again, but then she looks down, like she’s putting herself in check.  
“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just—I don’t know.”  
“Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this,” Sam says. He knows Zack. He’s a good guy-sure he can pull some sucky pranks but besides that he’s harmless. And he loved Emily. They were together 24/7, the picture perfect couple. “Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.”  
She stares at him for a second, willing herself to believe it. Before she crosses over that edge she stands up abruptly and walks out of the room, saying something about grabbing the keys. Dean leans back even further into the couch.  
“Oh yeah, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends.”  
Sam frowns at him. “Look, Zack and Becky need our help.” He glances at Jane for backup. She sighs.  
“Dean, we help people. That’s what we do, so why not this?”  
“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem,” he protests. And he might be right, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important. It’s important to Sam.  
“Two places at once?” Sam mentions, gesturing out widely. “We’ve looked into less.” This seems to defeat him.  
“Alright, fine. But if we get killed by a serial murderer I’m blaming you.”  
*********  
“You’re sure this is okay?” Rebecca asks, hesitantly walking onto the lawn of Zack’s house. It’s a classic crime scene, all yellow tape and officers with ridiculously good posture.  
“Yeah,” Dean says with a shrug. He’s lying through his teeth and Sam has no idea why Becky hasn’t picked up on it. “I am an officer of the law.”  
When they do get inside the house, it looks even more like a crime scene. There’s blood on the walls, on the floor, and on the furniture. Rebecca’s face turns ashen and Sam touches her arm slightly and looks at her with wide eyes. “Bec, you wanna wait outside?”  
She takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. “No. I wanna help.”  
Jane nods and gives an appreciative smile-Sam can already tell she likes her. “Is there anything else the police told you?” She takes out her notebook and a pen.  
“Well, there’s no sign of a break-in,” she explains, a few tears creeping into her eyes. “They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers—they’re already talking about plea bargain.” She examines the room and her voice starts to shake. “Oh god…”  
“Look, Bec, if Zack didn’t do this, it means someone else did. Any idea who?” Rebecca shakes her head, but her face shows another story. She hesitates for a second and then nods slightly.  
“There was something about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes-Zack’s clothes.” She confirms. “The police don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown, people get robbed sometimes.” Sam nods and pats her on the back appreciatively, smiling down at her. She smiles back and wipes away a few tears. Suddenly, Jane and Dean’s facial expression change at the same time, both of them pacing towards the front door in sync. Sam notices next-a dog is barking. Rebecca looks sad.  
“That used to be the sweetest dog.”  
“What happened?” Dean asks, pulling back the curtain. Jane’s eyes stay trained on the animal.  
“He just changed.”  
“Do you remember when he changed?” Jane follows-up, not moving except for her fingers twitching on her pen.  
“I guess around the time of the murder.” Her eyes soften for a second, but it’s barely a flash. Sam examines her a second before walking away, pacing towards his two other siblings leaning against the wall.  
“So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zack’s girlfriend was killed.” He says, keeping his voice quiet so his siblings can respond with anything they want to.  
“Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal,” Jane anwers, barely looking up from her notebook. “Maybe he saw something.”  
“So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. He directs it mainly at Dean, but Jane too. They both doubted him, both thought this was a police issue. Dean barely reacts.  
“No probably not. But we should look at the security tape,” he admits. “Y’know, just to make sure.” Jane agrees with him, a small smirk playing on her lips. It looks out of place with all the blood around her.  
Rebecca turns around suddenly, pacing over to the three of them with confident strides and a newfound sense of purpose. Sam can see Dean looking her up and down from the corner of his eye.  
“So, the tape, the security footage,” Jane asks. “You think maybe your lawyers could get your hands on that. “I don’t think Dean has that kind of jurisdiction.”  
“I’ve already got it,” Rebecca admits and looking down slightly. “I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop.” Jane laughs outwardly at that her head throwing itself back. If she isn’t more careful she might expose them. “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”  
Dean smiles. “All right then.”  
*********  
The tape is surprisingly good quality-sure it’s in black and white and there’s an annoying static noise over the whole thing, but the picture is clear-so clear Sam can clearly make out the address numbers on Zack’s house.  
“Here he comes,” Rebecca says. All of their attention is suddenly pulled to the video. Zack walks into camera, knocks on the front door, and then walks in. Simple as that.  
“22:04, that’s just after ten,” Dean says, squinting at the numbers in the corner. Jane clicks her pen. “You said time of death was about 10:30.”  
“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert,” Rebecca explains, gesturing to the video casually. “They says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with.” Sam squints, watching as the clip of Zack entering into the house. His posture stiffens.  
“Hey Bec, can we take those beers now?”  
“Oh, sure,” she says with a small smile. She wipes off of her pants and heads off to the kitchen. “Maybe some sandwiches or something, too?” He mentally winces at the request-it’s totally disrespectful and rude, and normally he would never even think of saying that, but he has too now. Sam needs some alone time with Dean and Jane.  
She rolls her eyes. “What do you think this is, Hooters?” She rounds the corner while laughing softly.  
“I wish,” Dean mutters once she’s out of earshot. Jane slaps him an leans into Sam.  
“What’d you see  
“Check this out,” he says, rewinding the video to the spot he remembered. You can see Zack, looking dead into the camera-but his eyes are glowing white. Jane sits back slightly and sighs, muttering something about jesus.  
“Maybe it was just a camera flare?” She tries, obviously not believing herself.  
“That’s not like any camera flare I’ve ever seen.” Sam directs his next words towards Dean, convinced that Jane believes now. “You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul.”  
“Right,” Dean says, nodding and holding out his hand.  
“Remember that dog that was freakin’ out? Maybe he saw this thing with the white eyes. Maybe it’s some kind of dark double of Zack’s.” He proposes. “Something that looks like him it isn’t him.”  
“Like a Doppelganger.”  
“Yeah. It’d sure explain how he was two places at once.” As if she’s decided the discussion is over, Jane slumps into the couch and makes a dramatic noise.  
“Can we go home nowwww…”  
*********  
Sam spent most of the night watching the video over and over again, looking for anything and everything he can. After last week’s case Jane hasn’t been able to sleep alone, so he’s laying next to her, head tucked against his chest. It barely bothers him. At around 5:00am he finds what he was looking for, his mind finally arranging itself in the right order.  
With a rush he wakes up his siblings and shoves them into the car, driving to Zack’s house while they’re still asleep. Jane is still wearing her sweatpants.  
“Alright, so what are we doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning?” Dean asks, gripping his coffee like it’s a lifeline and leaning against the Impala, squinting against the sun.  
“I realized something,” he explains, walking towards the house. “The videotape shows the killer going in, but not coming out.”  
“So, he came out the back door?” Dean explains as if it’s obvious. Jane sits on top of the car, practically laying down. Only Jay could do that: Dean would kill anyone else who even thought about doing that  
“Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.”  
“‘Cause they think the killer never left,” Jane finishes-her eyes don’t even open. “And they caught your friend Zack inside.”  
“I still don’t know what we’re doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning,” Dean mumbles, eyes glazed over.  
Sam wanders towards the back of the house, scanning for a sign. A footprint, anything. His eyes land on a nearby telephone pole.  
“Blood,” he says, gesturing to it. Jane opens one eye and looks at it, sitting up slightly. “Somebody came this way.”  
“Yeah, but the trail ends,” Jane says, walking towards the scene. “I don’t see anything over here.” She spreads her arms wide and raises her eyebrows.  
As soon as they make eye contact, a siren fills all three’s ears. Sirens aren’t uncommon-but they are important.  
*********  
They follow the ambulance to a nearby home. A man is being dragged out of the house in handcuffs, sobbing profusely. He doesn’t fight, doesn’t try to stop them, just begs and cries-he says he didn’t do it.  
“What happened?” Sam asks, leaning casually towards a middle-aged woman standing and watching the scene. She sighs with pity.  
“He tried to kill his wife. Tied her up and beat her.” She glances at him with wide eyes, barely holding back her sorrow.  
“Really?” Sam asks raising his eyebrows. It’s not a surprise necessarily, but any normal human would be shocked.  
“I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’s wave, say hello.” She sighs again, the same sound as earlier. “He seemed like such a nice guy.” The man is finally shoved into the back of the police car, screaming something intelligible. Sam’s heart clenches. He doesn’t deserve this.  
He probably is a nice guy, just like the woman says.  
*********  
“Hey, Dean. Sam,” Jane calls, walking back from her slight adventure to talk to the police. She’s smiling slightly, obviously triumphant on her quest. “Y’know how De said this isn’t our problem?” Dean rolls his eyes while Sam chuckles. “He was so wrong.”  
“What’d you find out?” Sam asks, trying to stay on task even though he can feel Dean giving Jane devil eyes.  
“Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s story. Apparently the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked.”  
“So, he was two places at once,” Dean says, dropping his exasperation to focus on the facts.  
“Exactly,” Jane says, smiling triumphantly and walking past them towards the car, leaning against it casually. “Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way.”  
“Could be the same thing doin’ it, too.” Dean proposes, apparently on board with this theory. Sam is nodding along, racking his brain for what it could be.  
“Shapeshifter?” He tries. “Something that can make itself look like anyone?”  
“Every culture in the world has shapeshifter lore,” Jane reasons, crossing her arms over her chest. “Legends of creatures that can transform themselves into animals or something else. Skinwalkers, werewolves…”  
“We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessin’ we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood.”  
Sams brow furrows as he takes it all in. The backyard, the lawn, the door. There’s a trail here-but it goes nowhere. “Let me ask you this,” he tries, turning back to Dean and Jane, who look like they’re twenty seconds away from arguing over some pointless shit. “in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?”  
“Not that I know of,” Jane says slowly, raising an eyebrow silently.  
“I picked up a trail here,” Sam explains, addressing the judgement pulsating off Dean. “Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way.”  
“Just like your friend’s house,” Dean finishes, the realization finally hitting him.  
“Yeah, and, just like at Zack’s house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared.”  
“Well, there’s another way to go,” Jane says, smirking slightly and walking over to a manhole in the middle of the street. “Down.”  
*********  
“I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too,” Sam observes, winding his flashlight around the sewer system. It’s disgusting-every last inch of the cement walls is coated in grime and dirt and…other stuff he doesn’t even want to think about. It takes significant effort to not step in the small river of shit floating down the center.  
“The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.” Jane’s tone is clipped; she’s obviously just as annoyed with their current location as Sam is.  
“I think you’re right,” Dean agrees, glancing around. For some reason he seems at home here, barely flinching at the literal shit they’re surrounded in. There’s a joke there, but Sam is too disgusted to find it. “Look at this.”  
He bends down in front of a small patch of something light and pokes at it with pocket knife. Sam’s confused by what it is for a second, but once it becomes clear his entire body shudders with disgust. No amount of experience would have him get used to this part of the job.  
“Is this from his victims?” Jane asks, scrunching her nose up in a way that makes her look a lot younger than he actually is. Sam’s about to agree with her or make up some weird excuse to shield the brutality of it from her (although she’s probably seen a lot worse) when Dean answers.  
“You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape-maybe it sheds.”  
“That is sick,” Jane agrees. And for half a second, they all agree on something.  
*********  
Jane is rummaging through the trunk, elbow deep in weapons. Sam can’t tell whether it looks right or wrong. On one hand, she’s confident, her hair is pulled back (only one little braid today), she’s wearing a leather jacket that must have been Dean’s at one point, and she holds the gun she’s currently handling with ease. On the other hand, she’s a fifteen-year-old girl.  
“One thing I learned from John-” John? Since when is he not Dad. Sam makes a mental note to ask her about that later. “Is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.”  
“Silver bullet to the heart,” The two brothers say in unison, barely blinking at the synchronization. They truly are falling back into their old rhythms.  
“That’s right,” Jane agrees, tossing them a round of bullets each. Her smile is barely hidden. The moment is ruined by Sam’s phone ringing annoyingly, announcing that some asshole wants to ruin the one productive conversation Sam’s had all week.  
“This is Sam,” he answers, trying to sound as neutral as possible.  
“Where are you?” Rebecca. She sounds…annoyed though. Sam goes through his memories hurriedly, trying to figure out why she might suddenly hate him. Nothing hits him. Unless…  
“We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out.” Jane’s dancing now, trying to get him to focus on her instead. Sam flips her off.  
“Well, look, Sam, just stop, ‘cause I really don’t need your help anymore.” What?  
“What are you talkin’ about?” His siblings obviously catch word of his concerned tone, two pairs of eyes landing on him with raised eyebrows.  
“I told the lawyers that we went to the crime scene.” Shiiiiiit. Sam shoots the pair an equally confused look, motioning that he’ll tell them later.  
“Why would you do that?” He tries to keep his tone light, not show that anything’s amiss. He’s not sure how well it’s working.  
“Well, I told them that we were with a police officer. And they checked it out, and they told me that there is no Detective Dean Winchester.”  
Sam sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, trying to ignore the growing feeling of guilt in his gut and Dean’s semi-angry stare. “Bec—“  
“No, I don’t understand why you would lie to me about something like that,” Rebecca insists. She sounds so broken and betrayed for a second that Sam’s knees almost give out, crippled by guilt. God, this is why Dean says he can’t have friends. But y’know what, screw Dean.  
“We’re tryin’ to help.” Jane takes a step towards him, apparently now picking up on the conversation’s topic. He waves her back slightly. He can do this alone-it’s his responsibility, his friend, he lied, he let her down.  
“Oh, trying to help?” She scoffs and Sam winces. “Do you realize that that was a sealed crime scene? This could have ruined Zack’s case.” Shit. He didn’t even think about that.  
“Bec, I’m sorry, but-“ He knows his words and excuses will fall on deaf ears, but he also can’t seem to stop himself.  
“No.” She sounds so final about it. God, this hurts. “Goodbye, Sam.”  
Sam can feel his face fall, all that disappointment visible on his face. Jane walks over, a sympathetic expression on her face. She places a hand on his shoulder softly. Dean shambles over too, but seems harder than Jane. There’s no sympathy.  
“I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”  
“Dean-“ Jane protests, staring at him with that familiar heat. With just one word she says back off. Dean doesn’t listen.  
“You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just—it’d be easier if-”  
“If I was like you.” Jane’s hand moves from off of his shoulder so she can fully face him, raising her eyebrows accusingly and opening her arms in a what the fuck gesture.  
“If he was like you?” Dean looks offended at her, offended that she took Sam’s side on this one. “If he was weirdly unattached from the world. The guys allowed to have feelings,” she continues as if he isn’t even there. After a brief stare down, Dean relents and walks over to the trunk, pulling out a gun and tossing it to Sam, handing another one to Jane and tucking one into his back pocket.  
“Let’s get to work.”  
*********  
“I think we’re close to it’s lair.” Dean’s voice breaks the silence, echoing around the sewer system too loudly for Sam’s liking.  
“Why do you say that?” Jane’s voice still carries annoyance and anger from their previous spat over Sam. He wonders to himself if they’ve ever fought about him before. He didn’t like it.  
“Because there’s another puke-inducing pile six inches from your face.” Jane flinches instinctually, barreling back into Sam’s chest with more force than a 15-year-old should hold. He nearly topples over and he has to steady his 6-foot-5 body against the slimy walls. He glances around the area, taking in a few more piles of human guts and some torn clothes sitting in a puddle.  
“Looks like it’s lived here for a while,” Sam observes, sweeping his flashlight over the gross hollow again.  
“Who knows how many murders he’s gotten away with?” Dean’s flashlight cuts across the darkness now, stopping on a figure.  
It’s the man from the street, but his gaze is blank now. Like he’s not human.  
Because he’s not human. Before Sam can react the shifter takes a step forward and punches Dean smack in the face, causing him to fall to the ground onto his left shoulder, causing a small cracking noise to ring through the cave. Sam is moving now, his brain working. He cocks his gun and fires it twice, each time at the shifter’s retreating form as he’s now running down another tunnel, but each one misses.  
“Get the fucker!” Jane shouts from where she’s helping Dean up, motioning that she’ll be right behind him. He takes off, paying the slightest attention to the puddles under his feet because slipping would not be fun, following the figure through the dark and winding tunnels. He barely registering the two pairs of footsteps falling behind him.  
The shifter leads him to ladder that takes them onto the street, and by the time Sam gets out of the smelly tunnels and into fresh air he’s gone-out of sight. Not out of mind though.  
He turns around and helps pull Jane out of the manhole, scanning the area once again. Nada.  
“Split up?” Jane offers, glancing at her two brothers for permission. They nod in unison, Dean motioning Jane over to Sam.  
“Be safe!” He yells over his shoulder as he sprints down the alley. After a quick check with Jay to make sure she knows the plan, they run the opposite direction.  
*********  
Jane hums the whole time they’re searching. Sam doesn’t know the song, only that it makes the whole chase feel like a scene out of some shitty horror movie. He doesn’t tell her to stop. Finally they make a whole lap around the block and find themselves back at the impala, where Dean is waiting for them.  
Same casual smile, same lax posture as he leans against the car, same outfit, same everything. But something’s different.  
“Hey,” he greets, smiling slightly. “Anything?”  
“No,” Jane responds, stepping towards him. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind he wants to grab her and pull her back to him, but why? That’s Dean, he can trust Dean. “He’s gone.”  
“All right, let’s get back to the car.” He claps his hands and opens the door, almost ready to get into the car when Sam stops him.  
“Hey, didn’t Dad once face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?” Jane glances at him with confusion, but quickly reads what Sam’s doing. To his relief she takes a step back, retreating back to Sam’s side of the concrete sidewalk.  
“Oh, that was Austin,” ‘Dean’ corrects with ease. “It turned out not to be a shapeshifter, it was a thought form. A psychic projection, remember?” Sam doesn’t respond, staying in his defensive position. “Jane, you remember right?”  
“Oh,” Jane answers, her voice only shaking a bit. “Right.” She glances at Sam again, her entire existence a question in that moment. He nods slightly and lets the tension ease from his shoulders. It is Dean, all is well. “Here ya go,” She finishes, tossing him the keys.  
And he catches them.  
He catches them with his left arm.  
The same arm that made that sickening cracking noise when he fell.  
Jane and Sam’s guns come up in unison, both of them raising quickly and efficiently-both trained directly on De-not Dean.  
“Guys, chill!” The thing calls, raising its arms in a mock surrender. And it feels so right, everything from it’s posture to it’s voice. But it can’t be. “It’s me, all right?”  
“I don’t think so,” Jane responds, her hands shaking around the silver gun in her hand. “Where’s my brother?”  
“You’re about to shoot him, Jay!” He protests. Jane’s shoulders tense at the nickname. Sam tightens his hold on the gun, getting ready to take initiative if she can’t do it. He doesn’t blame her, this is fucked up. “Guys, calm down.”  
“You caught those keys with your left,” Sam explains. “Your shoulder was hurt.”  
Not-Dean scoffs. “Yeah, it’s better. What do you want me to do, cry?” And that’s even more right, because that’s totally something he’d say, but it’s still not him.  
“You’re not my brother.” Jane’s whole body is shaking now, and Sam wants to pull her aside and calm her down because the last time Dean went missing she had a panic attack and he knows she’s seconds away from that again, but if he takes his gun off of the creature in front of him they’re screwed. So he hopes she can see his sympathetic and calming glances and continues holding the pistol steady.  
The shifter laughs and takes a step towards Jane, obviously knowing that he’s winning this battle. “Why don’t you pull the trigger, then? Hm? ‘Cause you’re not sure.” When the gun still doesn’t move he throws his hands up in annoyance. “Dude, you know me!” He takes another step forward and Jane steps back instinctually, nearly bumping into Sam.  
“Don’t-” he warns, taking a tense step forward. Not-Dean laughs and shakes his head.  
Then he grabs a crowbar and slams it into Sam’s head.  
*********  
Sam wakes up quickly, like someone threw water over him. Maybe someone did. The room he’s in is dirty and smelly, and his best guess is that it’s somewhere in the sewer system.  
“Where are they?” He mutters once he gets his throat to work correctly. Not-Dean, who is fiddling with something across the room, glances back with a cocked eyebrow, which only causes the pit in Sam’s stomach to grow. “Where are Dean and Jane?”  
He laughs, and it sounds exactly like Dean’s except it’s so not. Because it’s cruel and mean and sadistic and so not the Dean Sam knows. “I wouldn’t worry about Dean. The little one on the other hand…” He wanders over lazily to a beam (just like the one Sam’s tied to) and pulls aside a dingy blue tarp to reveal-Jane.  
She’s not tied up, just loosely propped against the beam like a toy doll. Half of her face is covered in blood from a wound on her forehead, the sticky substance coating her hair too. Sam feels his entire body tense at the sight of his little sister-his responsibility-hurt that bad. And he can’t even tell if she’s breathing.  
“She’s fine…” he drawls, crouching down to her level. “Don’t worry. I’ll even wake her up for you,” he finishes, raising his eyebrows in Sam’s direction. He knows it’s a question, but he’s too frustrated to answer so he just hopes the shifter takes pity on him and will prove to him that Jane is indeed okay.  
He seems to get the message and nods. “Gotta tie her up first, though,” he concludes, and Sam forces himself to sit still and breathe as Dean-NOT DEAN-fucking straddles Jane’s limp body in a way that just…isn’t right. It just solidifies in his mind that this isn’t Dean.  
Finally he’s got Jane’s hands above her head and her waist tied to the pole too-Sam does not want to acknowledge the fact that not-Dean, whilst straddling his 15 year old sister, tied a rope around her waist. It’s just wrong. He steps back as if to admire his work, sparing Sam one more glance, and then slaps Jane across the face.  
She snaps awake at the same time Sam throws himself against the ropes so hard he thinks skin breaks. The shifter laughs at their in-sync reactions, throwing his head back and smiling widely. Sam’s already plotting ways to kill him.  
“See Sammy? She’s fine!” Sam just tries to keep his rage in check and keeps one eye on Jay to make sure he doesn’t mess with her again.  
“Man,” the shifter begins again, leaning back down to examine Jane’s face, smiling at the growing red welt like he’s proud. “The more I learn about you and your family-I thought I came from a bad background.”  
Wait, learn? Sam’s struck by a sudden flash of confusion. This thing has Dean’s appearance, but it shouldn’t know anything about him. That’s not how these creatures are supposed to work.  
“What do you mean learn?” Jane speaks for him, holding her head high even though it’s easy for Sam to see the fear and confusion there. This whole situation is going farther south than he’d like it to. “And where is my brother?”  
The shifter laughs again, and at that moment Sam realizes that he might never be able to hear Dean’s laugh again without it being tainted by the memory of him and Jane being tied to poles in some grungy sewer room. It makes him sad for some reason.  
“Always about the big brother, huh?” He says, getting way too close to her face for Sam’s liking. He’s pretty sure there’s blood on his hands from the amount he’s pulling on the ropes. “Well, he’s sure got issues about you.”  
“Don’t you dare,” Sam chokes out, done with watching Jane’s wide eyes flick between him and her-not-brother’s face only inches from her own. It ignores him.  
“Ya see,” he continues, placing a strand of hair behind her ear delicately. She holds his gaze, barely flinching. “You’re just a little girl.”  
There’s the flinch. Sam thinks he yells something, but he’s not quite sure.  
“He just drags you around, always having to protect you. He never gets anything done, and it’s all your fault.” Jane squeezes her eyes shut, probably trying to hold back something. “You can’t get anything done, he always-I always-have to swoop in and save you.” He takes a knife out of his back pocket, and Sam swears his blood turns to ice. “This right here, is gonna be payback.” He places it against her cheek and is about to apply pressure when Sam cuts him off, finally done.  
“ENOUGH!” He yells. The shifter turns his attention away from Jane, who looks like a stiff breeze might knock her down, and finally focuses on Sam. He feels all the air leave his lungs in one satisfying whoosh.  
Jane’s safe. He did his job.  
“And you, wow. I can’t believe the things he thinks about you.” The shifter doesn’t crouch down next to him like he did to Jane, which kinda makes his stomach turn with implications, and instead leans against the wall facing him. “You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean I had to stay home,” he corrects like he just got a math problem wrong or something mundane like that.  
“You don’t think I had dreams of my own?”  
Sam knows Dean has dreams of his own. And it haunted him almost everyday he was away.  
“But Dad needed me,” he continues. “Where the hell were you?” The final phrase feels like a punch to the gut, but he pushes that aside and focuses on a problem he can fix-his older brother.  
“Where is my brother?”  
“I am your brother,” he answers loudly. Sam tries to pretend he doesn’t see Jane flinch against her bonds. “See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me.”  
Sam’s breath hitches for a second, because that does sound right, and that’s totally something Dean would say. Maybe that is from Dean’s mind. Maybe this is his actual thoughts. About him, about Jane-about himself.  
“What are you talkin’ about,” is all he manages to stutter out, his words almost catching in his throat as they come out,  
“You. Left.” It feels like someone knocked the wind out of him. “Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with this bitch.” Sam throws himself against the bonds yet again. “But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks.” Laughter. Sam wacks his head against the wood behind him. “I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky.”  
Sam’s body tenses at the mention of his friend, his brain tunnel visioning to his brother’s body in front of him.  
“Y’know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Me personally, I would choose this one over here.” He motions to Jane, who flinches so strongly that Sam thinks she might of hurt herself. Sam on the other hand, literally sees red. He didn’t think that was possible until this happened, but now there’s no doubt about it.  
“I swear to god, when I get out of this-”  
“I’m gonna kill you,” Jane finishes for him. She still looks terrified, and she still looks like she’s about to pass out, but she’s got that fire in her eyes now that’s so familiar and so Jane.  
The shifter bends down once again, staring her dead in the eyes. She holds the eye contact and blinks back her tears. Sam feels a rush of pride. “Not if I kill you first.” Before Sam can even react, the thing picks up a crowbar and slams it against Jay’s head, the same spot that the blood is coming from.  
Sam shouts a protest, but he’s met with two things-neither of which he likes.  
Laughter and darkness.  
*********  
Sam wakes up to someone screaming his name. It takes a second for him to process everything-the ropes around his wrist, the tarp covering, the throbbing in his head-but when he does, the reality of the situation hits him like a train. Dean. Jane.  
“Damn it,” he curses, struggling slightly to get the sheet off of him. He hears motion behind him and freezes, trying to keep his breathing as light as possible in case that was the shifter.  
“That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature.” Dean. The real Dean, not the fake one that probably gave him a concussion and said he’d like to fuck his sister. Sam can’t help but laugh slightly at the sound of his voice, suddenly feeling ten times safer. He finally manages to shake off the tarp, and he cranes his head to look around. Jane is still lying there, still and silent, but Dean is now visible on the pole behind him, seemingly making progress on the ropes holding him. Apparently the creature didn’t expect him to wake up this soon.  
“He went off to Becky’s house looking like you,” he explains, shifting a bit so the cramp in his legs fades a bit.  
“Well he’s not a stupid-he picked the handsome one,” he cracks. Sam smiles. “Where’s Jay?” Shit, right Jane.  
“She’s over here,” Sam explains jerking his head in her direction. She still hasn’t moved an inch. His stomach clenches in time with Dean’s curse. “Son of a bitch hit her really hard in the head.”  
Dean curses again and struggles even harder against his bonds, finally getting them to loosen. Sam motions him over to Jane, where he runs and crouches next to her in a way that brings unpleasant memories. But instead of lust and sadistic delight in his eyes, it’s concern. Sam forces himself to trust him.  
“Jay?” He barely breathes, cupping her bloody face in her his hands. “Jay, c’mon, wake up.” After a brief second that makes Sam want to scream, her head shifts. She opens her eyes slowly and instantly flinches-he didn’t think this through.  
“Don’t,” she mutters, trying to pull her face away from Dean’s hands.  
“Jane,” Sam calls as he throws the ropes off his wrist-as he suspected, there’s a thin coating of dried blood. “It’s okay, that’s him.”  
She sighs and leans into his touch slightly before opening her eyes wider and pulling at her wrists a bit. “Get me out of these,” she mumbles. In a few seconds she’s free and attempting-it’s not her best work-to stand up while Dean watches. She insisted on doing it herself, being the stubborn teenager she was.  
“You okay?” Sam asks, as she nearly tumbles back down. She nods and holds onto the wall steadily, shaking her head slightly and then lifting it back up after a second. Now that looks like the Jane Sam knows. “Okay, well since we’re all in one piece-” one more side glance to Jane “we’ve got an issue. Dean, the shifter was you.”  
“What do you mean?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.  
“He was you,” Jane repeats, cringing at the memory. “He had your thoughts and memories, all of it.”  
“Like the Vulcan mind meld?” Sam momentarily rolls his eyes at his brother’s comment-yeah, he’s the nerd in this relationship.  
“Yeah,” Jane confirms again, shaking her head in a way that’s beginning to worry Sam. Concussion, definitely.  
“Maybe that’s why he didn’t kill us, he needs us alive.” He shrugs. “Psychic connection or somethin’.”  
“Yeah, I guess.” Dean turns his attention back to Jane, who is clutching at her head now. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Sam squints, concerned.  
“Jane, are you sure you’re okay?” He confirms. She nods, but leans against him slightly, taking his silent offer of help.  
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t think I have a concussion, just a nasty headache.” After a second she smiles and cracks open one eye to face Dean. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this but I’m gonna be glad to see you dead.”  
*********  
It turns out that they weren’t in a sewer, they were actually in n old abandoned house-and the cliché doesn’t stop there. When they finally get out they’re in an alley. A dirty, dingy, smelly alley lined with trash cans and dumpsters.  
It’s night, the only light coming from a few streetlights. Sam guesses it’s around 1 am, which means they were only out for three or so hours. It seems like it was longer, but whatever. It’s not important.  
“Come on,” Jane says, dashing down the alley to the street. Her gait is lazy and unbalanced-did she hurt her leg. Sam realizes that he was out when the shifter grabbed her-maybe she fought back. For a second, Sam is really, really proud. “We gotta find a phone and call the police.”  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean interrupts, holding his hands out in mock surrender. “You’re gonna put an APB out on me?”  
Sam chuckles at Jane’s innocent little shrug and not-so-innocent smirk. “Sorry.” They head down the block, trying to look as casual as possible in their current state. Then again, it is late at night.  
The glow of a window TV is what makes Sam pause as he’s walking. “Wait-” he calls, holding his hand out to stop his siblings. They pause and turn towards the TV as a middle-aged man begins to speak.  
“An anonymous tip led police to a home in Central West End, where a S.W.A.T. team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty four-to thirty year of age, was discovered hiding in her home.” As if on cue, a sketch of someone who isn’t Dean-but 100% is trying to be-flashes up on the screen. Dean groans.  
“That’s not even a good picture.”  
Jane sighs and mumbles, obviously annoyed at their job becoming even harder. “It’s good enough.”  
Sam sighs, forcing himself to exhale calmly. “They said attempted murder. At least we know-”  
“I didn’t kill her,” Dean finishes. At least there is a silver lining to this whole thing-albeit a small one.  
“Okay then we check with Rebecca in the morning, and now we find that pain in the ass and kick him in the nuts,” Jane bargains, raising her eyebrow is if it’s a challenge. As if she’s daring Sam to stop her. He doesn’t.  
“Jay, we have no weapons,” Dean protests. Apparently he’s forgotten her real name, Sam observes, as he’s yet to call her her real name since they escaped from the building. “It’s just not smart. I mean, trust me, I want to kill it just as much as you do but-”  
“De,” the nickname feels off when she’s looking at him with that much fury (not at him though). “The guy was 20 seconds away from molesting me. I want to kill him.”  
Dean’s face changes to one of shock in about half a second. He glances back at Sam for confirmation, and all he can offer is a small nod before Dean’s face gets mad-really mad.  
“Yeah, let’s kick his ass.”  
*********  
The second they arrive where they need to be, the cops pull up.  
“Shit,” Sam mutters at the same time Dean and Jane curse (albeit more colorfully). “Okay,” he directs, shoving Dean slightly towards a nearby fence. “You go, we’ll hold them off.”  
“What are you talking about?” He questions. “They’ll catch you. You can’t run, Jay’s leg is fucked.” Sam doesn’t miss the devil eyes she shoots him, but he also doesn’t miss the way she’s clearly favoring her right leg. Damn, the shifter must have really slammed it with that crowbar.  
“Look, they can’t hold us. Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca’s.” Dean finally nods, squeezing Jane’s shoulder once and shooting Sam a kind look, before racing over the fence and out of sight. Right before he falls over Jane calls out to him.  
“DEAN!” He turns. “Stay out of the sewers alone. That’s an order.” They both smile slightly before Dean salutes and drops beneath the fence-out of sight, not quite out of mind. Just as he exits, the street is lit up by a cheap flashlight-a police flashlight.  
“Don’t move!” The man screams. “Keep your hands in the air where I can see them!” Sam obeys. So does Jane.  
That has to be a first.  
*********  
Sam and Jane do end up at Rebecca’s house the next morning. She serves them a beer, sits them down and smiles while Jane explains-with her sweetest smile and best posture-all about the shapeshifter and the whole ordeal-leaving out the fact that she was injured in the whole ordeal. She doesn’t laugh, doesn’t mock them, and doesn’t kick them out-all three of the reactions Sam was expecting.  
When Jane finishes and offers that classic “Sorry-that-I-just-told-you-monsters-are-real” look, Rebecca just stands up and takes a big swig of beer-which strikes Sam as weird because Becky was never really a drinker, but hard times huh.  
“So, say this sHaPeSHifTer is real. Which by the way, you know you’re crazy?” Even though the comment would be offensive, she says it with this calm smile that makes Sam think she’s in on the joke or something. Sam guesses she kinda is-she’s one of only a few people that knows about all this shit. “But, uh say it is real. How do you stop it.”  
She picks up Sam’s empty bottle with a smile, placing it on the table behind them-the one she’s currently pacing the length of over and over.  
He thanks her quietly. “Silver bullet to the heart.”  
Rebecca laughs slightly, picking up the empty beer bottle and turning it over in her hands. “Wow,” she says, glancing at Sam in a way that feels familiar-but not right. Not Rebecca-familiar. “You really are crazy.”  
Sam has only a moment to try to dive over to Jane before the beer bottle slams into his head. He hopes Jane fights back again-fucked leg and all.  
*********  
Sam is facing Jane when he wakes up and, thankfully, she’s awake this time. Here eyes are facing his, but she doesn’t make any noise. She doesn’t appear to be any more hurt than she was before, although her face is scrunched up slightly. Sam can’t tell if it’s pain or fear-concern maybe?  
“What are you gonna do to me?” He’s very careful to leave Jane out of the question, because as far as he’s concerned, he’s not even going to go near her. He’s hoping the shifter is there to hear him talk. Dean stalks into view slowly, playing with a knife lazily-rolling it around his hand, testing the sharpness of the blade  
“Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Not to you at least.” He smirks, glancing at him playfully. “Dean will on the other hand, is gonna have some fun with the little one.”  
Sam grimaces and glances at Jane, trying to offer some form of an ‘it’s okay.’ Her eyes are closed though, squeezed shut as she pulls against her bonds so she’s as far from not-Dean as she can get.  
“They’ll never catch him,” Sam mutters, hoping to think his way out of this one.  
“Oh it doesn’t matter.” He smiles again, keeps his eyes on Jane like she’s the only one in this room. “Torturing and murdering his baby sister-” Jane flinches “And making her older brother watch? I mean that’s,” he pauses to laugh, like the whole thing is a joke. Like Sam isn’t seconds away from hyperventilating. “That’s just cruel. He’ll be hunted for the rest of his life.”  
“I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother’s got a lot of good qualities.” The shifter pours himself a drink and sits himself down, so he’s at the same level as they are. As if he’s just “one of the guys” and he isn’t about to torture his little sister to death. “You should appreciate him more.”  
Before Sam can even make a sound, the thing has a knife to Jane’s face, pulling it lazily down her face-as if it’s following a tear tract. With a twist of his stomach, he realizes he might. The tears are red now though.  
When the shifter glances over to Sam to make sure he’s appreciating his work, Jane strikes, kicking her leg out and hitting him straight in the knee. He falls over and his knife skids over to Sam, who uses it to cut his ropes and stand up. He offers Jay a small wink of appreciation and tries to ignore the way she winces when she winks back-the wound stops right beneath her eye.  
When the shifter’s up, he swings the knife at him crazily, trying in vain to hit him. Instead, the bastard just grabs his arm and twists it until the pain causes him to cripple to the floor. He thinks Jane calls his name, but he’s too focused on the screaming in his arm to call back. The knife clatters to the ground, and Sam uses the last of his strength to push it towards Jane. The last glimpse of her Sam sees before not-Dean pins him to the ground is Jane’s boot landing on the knife.  
“Nice job little brother,” the shifter comments, and Sam has to push back the flashbacks to that November night-easy, tiger-and remind himself that this is not Dean. This is a monster. Where is Dean by the way? They could really use them right now.  
“You’re not him,” he chokes out, using his new rush of energy to shove the shifter against the wall and stand up. Jane, now standing, only glances at him once before jumping into action, swinging her fist in a surprisingly good punch towards the now dazed shifter’s face. He blocks it just in time, grabbing Jane’s shoulders and throwing her into the wall, where she crumples to the ground with a moan.  
Sam charges at him again, but he knocks him in the gut and sends him stumbling back into a bookshelf. The books topple onto him while he falls, effectively pinning him to the ground.  
“Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass,” the shifter drawls, leaning straight into Sam’s face. He raises the knife and for a second Sam thinks that this is it-he’s gonna die and the last thing he’s gonna see is his brother’s ugly-ass-face and his motherfucking smirk.  
But then two sounds remind him that there’s no way his siblings would let him day-as annoying as they are.  
The first is a pair of all too familiar footsteps entering the room, accompanied with the clicking of a gun he knows the exact appearance of.  
The second is Jane’s voice.  
“Yeah,” she pants, standing behind the crouching shifter with a pool cue in her hand. “But I always kicked yours.”  
With a satisfying crack, Jane swings the cue and slams it straight into his head. "That's ma girl," Dean congratulates as he rushes over and lifts the bookshelf, unpinning him and letting more air into his lungs.  
Jane grabs the gun from Dean’s pocket, squinting and shooting it point-blank into the fake-Dean’s chest: not one, but three times. After that she staggers backwards into the pool table, letting her knees give out and her body relax. As Sam sits up, he notices a slightly traumatized and worse for wear Rebecca running over to him and shouting his name.  
He also notices Dean looking him over to make sure he’s okay, before deciding he’s fine and dashing over to help Jane, who shoves him away slightly.  
Sam calms down Rebecca whilst keeping an eye on Jay, who seems slightly shaken up but okay in the long run. He helps Rebecca clean her wounds, explains the whole thing-for a second time-and offers her a beer-turns out he was right about the hard times thing.  
Before they leave, he sees Dean bend over his own not-corpse and pull two things off of it. A small leather bracelet and the bronze amulet that hangs around his neck. Sam fingers his own bracelet as they exit the house.


	7. Hookman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings-violence, blood and stuff, ghosts?, mentions of prostitutes and cheating, getting arrested, stealing books, angst, fancy coffee drinks.
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

“Alright, thank you for your time.” Sam hangs up the payphone with a sigh, shaking his head. This trail is getting colder by the day, and sooner or later it’s going to freeze over. Where is their Dad? It’s the question that haunts Sam at all times, the one that just doesn’t leave him behind, no matter how far he tries to run or how deep he digs. Nothing.  
“Your fancy shmancy drink is getting cold buddy,” Jane beckons, snapping him out of his thoughts with a jolt. She’s smiling and perching her feet on the wire table outside the café, all relaxed and calm. It doesn’t seem to bug her that her Dad is missing: her only visible care is Dean swatting at her legs which are getting in the way of his research, and her hot chocolate being too hot.  
“Oh, bite me,” Sam responds, forcing a smile and sitting back down in his slightly uncomfortable chair.  
“So,” Dean asks, not looking up from where he’s clacking away at his laptop. “You got anything?”  
“Nope. I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Doe’s fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”  
“Sammy, I don’t think Dad wants to be found,” Jane reasons. She doesn’t make eye contact as she says it, looking down and swirling around her coco. She’s ashamed to bring up the truth they all know, but none of them want to admit. There’s a beat as Sam lets it sink in, dealing with the fact that his Dad doesn’t want to see him. No, scratch that, he doesn’t want to see Dean and Jane. He hasn’t wanted to see Sam in a while now.  
“Check this out,” Dean interrupts, clearing his throat loudly to break the silence. He spins the computer around-it’s open to a news article about a death-meaning it’s a case. “It’s a news article from some tiny town in Iowa.” Ankeny to be exact, but whatever. “It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”  
“‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road.’” Sam reads, his eyes scanning over the bright screen. He raises his eyebrows in a silent question. His older brother just rolls his eyes and tells him to keep reading.  
“‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.” When Sam looks up once again Dean shrugs defensively.  
“Could be something interesting.”  
“Could be a freaked out witness,” Jane contradicts, voicing Sam’s thoughts exactly. He can tell by the way she’s leaning forward and paying attention that she is interested, though. “Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man though.”  
“But what if it is?” Dean questions. “Dad would check it out.”  
And with those five words, Dean wins.  
*********  
Turns out the vic was part of a fraternity, which is fucking fantastic. With the limited experience Sam has with frats, which is not super limited, they suck. All douchey boys and air-headed girls looking for friends and an excuse to drink alchohol. He sighs as the car door slams.  
“One more time, why are we here?” Jane moans, standing with her signature bad posture as she gazes at the old house.  
“Victim lived here,” Dean explains, shoving Jane slightly as they begin their walk. There are boys everywhere. Two are fixing a car, arguing slightly over how to do it best, and Dean eyes it slightly, smiling a tiny bit at the old car. Sam doesn’t even know what it is, but he’s sure Dean knows the exact day it was made.  
“Nice wheels,” he comments, smiling and nodding. The two turn from their work, eyeing him up and down with confusion. They move to Sam next, and finally to Jane, who just smiles and lets them take her in while Sam wants to punch them in the face. He can tell they have only one brain cell each. “We’re your fraternity brothers. New, from Ohio. Looking for a place to stay.”  
“The girl?” The taller one asks, brushing some sweat from his hair.  
“My little sis,” Dean explains, clapping her on the shoulder affectionately. “Just along for the ride today.” The two boys seems to take that as an okay, and they lead the three inside, escorting them to a room where another boy is shirtless-and purple. Jane averts her eyes.  
“Who are you?” He asks, seemingly offended that someone would walk in on his self-art session. Sam isn’t too pleased himself.  
“We’re new roommates,” Dean explains again. Sam wonders offhandedly how many times they’re gonna have to explain this. “And this is Jay, my sister. Don’t mind her.”  
The frat boy nods again, obviously okay with this development-same reaction as the other boys, same number of brain cells.  
“Do me a favor?” He asks, holding out his purple-soaked brush to Dean. “Get my back. Big game today.”  
Dean grimaces and glances at Sam, and Sam can see the gears turning in his head. He shoots him a silent death glare but before he can even get the message across Jane is speaking, throwing him under the bus yet again. “Oh, you don’t want him. Sam here’s the artist.” She chuckles and sits down on a ratty couch against the wall. “The things you can do with a brush.”  
Sam shoots her another glare of death, which she only responds too with a sweet smile. Dean plops down next to her as Sam begins awkwardly streaking the guy’s back. “So,” His older brother replies, opening a magazine that was sitting on the nearby table. “Is it true?”  
“What?” The guy asks, his back rising and cracking some already-dried paint with the words.  
“We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week.”  
The guy looks down, and Sam can see Jane studying him. Looking for cues-looking for tells. “Yeah,” he confirms, his tone somber and dark. Not the kind you’d expect from a guy covered in purple.  
“What happened?” Jane asks, making her voice higher than usual and acting disinterested. ‘Playing Blonde’ she calls it. It’s highly effectual with the male population.  
“They’re saying some psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy.”  
“Rich,” Sam speaks up, trying to keep his tone light. Again, show no interest. You’re just a curious new kid. “He was with somebody, right?”  
“Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen,” the guy says, whispering her name like if he says it too loud he’ll summon her or some shit. Sam frowns.  
“Who’s Lori Sorensen?” Dean asks, glancing up from the magazine. When he sees Sam, who’s continuing his artpiece of the boy’s back, he smiles. “You missed a spot there on the back, Sammy.”  
“Lori’s a freshman,” he explains, seemingly ignoring the conversation that Sam and Dean shared. “She’s a local. Super hot. And get this: she’s a reverend’s daughter.”  
Dean’s eyebrows raise-religion is one of the main causes of the supernatural, and would make their problem a lot easier if there was an easy tie.  
“Wouldn’t happen to know which church, would ya?”  
*********  
Sam wouldn’t say he was religious-spiritual, sure, but organized religion wasn’t really his thing. And he never liked church. He never went was he was a kid, but he made an effort to go occasionally at Stanford. Jess liked to go, so he just went with her on holidays and the odd Sunday morning he woke up early.  
The church that Reverend Sorenson works at is not large-one of those chapels with a hallway to the side and nothing else except a half-finished basement. The stained glass is pretty though. Jane thinks the colors look like butterfly wings.  
They creep through the old hallway slowly, trying to avoid anyone that might bump into them and recruit them for the bake sale or some shit. Luckily, no one shows.  
Unluckily, the door to the chapel is louder than it looks, and there’s a sermon going on. A sermon about the death of one Richard Todd.  
“We should reflect on what this tragedy means,” the Reverend continues, ignoring the trio-which is more than they can say for the congregation. “To us, as a church, as a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings.” The three sit down in an old wooden pew, looking ridiculously out of place with their hand me down jackets and ripped jeans. Sam notices a girl about his age staring at him differently than the others are-less disgust, more…intrigue. He smiles slightly back.  
“So please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.” The congregation bows their heads in unison, as does Sam, comfortable with this part of the service. This he could do. Jane apparently, is not, glancing around confusingly. Sam elbows her and she quickly lowers her head and squeezes her eyes shut.  
Sam wonders what she’s thinking about.  
He’s thinking about Jessica.  
*********  
When the service ends the girl that was looking at Sam heads up to the Reverend and begins speaking to him in a way that doesn’t seem all polite and average citizen like, and that’s when it occurs to Sam that this is Lori. The boys weren’t wrong about her being attractive. He approaches her after, Dean and Jane in tow.  
“Are you Lori?” He asks, smiling again. He can’t help it, she’s pretty.  
“Yeah,” she answers, with a smile of her own.  
“My name is Sam,” he introduces. Her eyes are blue, but there’s a ring of almost grey surrounding her pupils. Almost like…. “This is my brother, Dean,” he continues, snapping out of his haze and remembering the people standing behind him. “And this is my sister, Jane. Me and Dean just transferred here to the university.”  
“I saw you inside.” She smiles again. Sam blushes.  
“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and...”  
“We wanted to say how sorry we were.” Jane picks up where he left off, obviously noticing his blush and his stuttering. Sam was never the smooth one around girls-that was Dean. She smiles kindly and nods.  
“I kind of know what you’re going through.” Sam’s surprised at his words. He didn’t expect to share his recent trauma with someone he barely knows-let alone a pretty girl-but here he goes. “I saw someone get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.” Lori nods again and glances down, avoiding Sam’s gaze. He finds himself wanting her to look up again so he can see her eyes.  
At that moment Reverend Sorenson makes his entrance, strolling up casually yet almost regally. Like an off-duty-king. Lori nods and introduces him to the brothers sheepishly, brushing away that moment of sadness just as quick as it came on.  
“Dad, this is Sam and Dean, and their sister Jane. The boys are new students.” She eyes Sam on the word ‘boys’ and Sam feels himself blush yet again.  
Dean shakes the man’s hand politely, and Jane nods kindly, her classic fake smile plastered across her face. Her eyes are twinkling with mischief, and Sam wonders if she maybe noticed the blushing and eye contact. He reminds himself to slap her later.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.” Sam restrains a laugh-bullshit. Dean was staring at the blonde in the front row the whole time.  
“Thank you very much. It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.”  
“Listen, uh, we’re new in town, actually. And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group.” Dean grabs Jane’s wrist and walks her away from the group with a smirk in Sam’s direction, and once the Reverend follows he’s alone with Lori. Yay?  
“Tell me, Lori. What are the police saying?”  
“Well, they don’t have a lot to go on. I think they blame me for that.” She smiles slightly and glances down, and Sam can’t help but think about how pretty she is in that moment. Her hair is somewhere between blonde and brunette, and her eyes are round and doe-like, and she has these really nice cheekbones and-  
“What do you mean?” He asks, forcing himself out of his momentary haze.  
“My story,” she responds, glancing up at him. “I was so scared, I guess I was ‘seeing things.’” He glances down at her, making eye contact for a split moment.  
She has green in her eyes.  
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”  
*********  
“So you believe her?” Jane asks, cocking an eyebrow as Sam relays Lori’s story.  
“I do.”  
Dean chuckles and glances over at him from where he’s sitting at his laptop, his smile somewhere between pride and that brotherly teasing smirk he’s got eternally plastered on. “Yeah, I think she’s hot too.”  
“No, man, there’s something in her eyes,” he defends, trying to keep himself sitting. Jane mutters something about lovesickness, but Sam decides to ignore it. “And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”  
“Wait, the body suspended?” Jane asks, leaning forward in her chair slightly. “That sounds like the-”  
“Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.” Sam finishes, leaning back in his chair. It seems crazy, but it’s the only one that makes sense to him.  
“You think that’s it?” Dean asks, his eyebrows up again and in full force. It’s judgment, no doubt about it. He hates it, but also makes sense too. It’s an urban legend, why would it be real?  
“Every urban legend has a source,” Jane speaks up, surprising him with her support. Then again, she is a teenager. “A place where it all began.”  
“Yeah, but what about the invisible killer part?” Dean interjects. “Last time I checked the Hook guy isn’t invisible.”  
“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?”  
That stumps him.  
**********  
They end up at a library, much to Dean’s dislike. Jane fits right in though. While the librarian is looking for the records, she’s walking through the young adult section and trailing her hands over the spines. She picks up one, a paperback and stares at it for a long time. Sam has to snap her back into the present so they can do research.  
They spend hours looking through the records, which date all th way back to 1805. Newspapers, magazine articles, a random love letter to someone named Harold Fisher (??). Finally Sam finds something that slightly resembles what he was looking for.  
“Hey, in 1862, a preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes.” Jane makes a face. “ ‘Some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ ”  
Jane nods in agreement and asks pulls the piece of paper way from him. She studies it for a minute before speaking up again. “And get this, the murder weapon? The preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook. Oh and, guess where it happened?”  
“Where?”  
“9 mile road. Same place the last victim was found.”  
After they decide that the best course of action is to travel to the road and check it out, they hop back into the car. Before they pull out of the parking lot, Dean chucks something back at Jane.  
She looks at it for a second before smiling slightly and thanking him.  
It’s the book from earlier.  
*********  
9-mile road looks like the kinda place a spirit would haunt. Old cracked asphalt that’s perpetually cracked and wet from some always-raining-cloud nearby. Dean opens the trunk and tosses Jane and him a shotgun. A goddamn shotgun.  
Since when can you shoot a fucking ghost.  
“A gun?” He asks, holding it out for Dean to take back, as if he’ll realize his mistake and go ‘oh my bad’. He doesn’t.  
“It’s rock salt shells dumbass,” Jane replies, loading it with more experience than any 15 should have.  
She stalks off and leaves Sam dumbfounded, smiling slightly the whole time. “That’s pretty good,” he gives in. “Dad think of that?”  
Jane tenses slightly and Sam knew he said the wrong thing. Luckily Dean jumps in before he can make the situation any worse. “No duMbAsS,” he mocks Jane’s nickname from earlier. “She did.”  
The awkward situation quickly becomes the least of their problems when they hear a rustle in the bushes. Dean holds a finger to his lips and creeps towards it, feet treading lightly and quietly. Sam follows suit  
There it is again, something in the bushes. He sends a silent look to Dean and they part the bushes with a flash.  
It’s a goddamn cop.  
“Put the gun down now! Now!” She demands, cocking her own gun with even more professionalism than Jane had. “Put your hands behind your head.”  
“Okay, okay!” Sam says, following her instructions and keeping his eyes down.  
“Now get down on your knees. NOW!” She demands again. They all comply, with only an eye roll (you’ll NEVER guess who it’s from) in protest.  
“Now get down on your stomachs!”  
Sam sighs.  
*********  
“A thank you would be nice,” Jane mumbles as they exit the station. Sam laughs.  
“Why?”  
“ ‘Cause I saved your ass? I talked that sheriff down to a fine.” She says that like it’s some miracle of miracles, instead of just some abtted eyelashes at the young receptionist boy and some sweet talking.  
“Okay fine,” Sam gives in shrugging and shoving her about a foot towards the nearby building. “But how?”  
“She told her that you were some dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you,” Dean supplies, smirking and clapping Jane-now trying to regain her balance-on the shoulder.  
“What about the shotgun?”  
“I said that you were ‘hunting ghosts’ and the ‘spirits were repelled by salt.’”  
“And she believed you guys?” Sam scoffs.  
“Well, you do look like a dumbass pledge,” Dean cracks. Sam wants to be mad, but they’re all smiling and nothing is going wrong currently. Picture perfect afternoon-minus the almost being arrested part.  
And then a police car zooms past them, sirens wailing like some twisted way of telling them that something’s wrong. That something terrible has happened.  
They follow it, obviously.  
*********  
To avoid the hassle of badges and police and all that shit, they decide to park the car behind the sorority and keep a low profile. The building looks fine-certainly doesn’t look like some crime occurred. For a second, Sam wonders if maybe this isn’t related to the case they’re working.  
“Why would the Hook Man come here?” He asks, glancing around the worn stone and beige bricks. It’s a building he’s seen a million times at Stanford, always filled with partying boys or pretty girls like Lori.  
“Maybe this is something else?” Jane offers, voicing Sam’s thoughts from earlier.  
Two girls exit the side entrance just as she finishes the sentence, and in unison the three press themselves against the rough bricks to hide themselves from view. The girls are wearing tank tops and shorts, and Sam can almost feel Dean smirk. “Dude, sorority girls. You think we’ll see a naked pillow fight?”  
“Dude,” Jane interjects as Sam steps back and begins surveying the building for an easy way in. “It ever cross your mind that you might be a pervert?”  
Finding a window only a few feet above him that Sam thinks he can climb into, he turns around to face his siblings, who look about one second away from fighting.  
“Guys, window,” he reminds. Instantly they’re out of it, and the two oldest are hoisting Jane through the window. Once she gets in (and confirms that it is indeed Lori’s room) she holds her hand out and helps the other two up with a surprising amount of strength. Then again, what isn’t surprising about this girl?  
The room is small, modest. It was made for two, and two seem to stay there. Police tape covers the door, and for a second Sam worries that maybe it was Lori who got hurt. But then he sees the words on the wall.  
AREN’T YOU GLAD YOU DIDN’T TURN ON THE LIGHT?  
They’re positioned one of the beds, the one covered in blood. But it’s not Lori’s, because hers is across the room-labeled by a few decal letters sitting above the headboard. She’s okay.  
“Well, that’s right out of the legend,” Jane quips, gesturing at the words.  
“Yep, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean responds. He paces around the room, scrunching up his nose as he goes. “And it’s definitely a spirit, too.”  
He’s right. It smells like spirits alright-that kinda musty, kinda chemical-y scent that comes after rainstorms or, in this case, a spirit’s appearance.  
“Hey, come here,” Jane announces probably louder than she should-they are trespassing on a crime scene after all. She points to a symbol beneath the writing. It’s no wonder Sam missed it, it’s tiny. Probably the size of a fist, while the words are huge, like it’s a billboard or something.  
It’s a cross, but there are smaller crosses surrounding it. Somewhere deep in Sam’s mind something shifts-something recognizes.  
“I know that symbol.”  
*********  
The first thing Sam does when he gets back to the car is direct Jane to pull back up the webpage from earlier. There it is, right in the center-the symbol from the wall. Cross with more crosses around it.  
“Same symbol,” she comments lazily. “So it is the spirit of Jacob Karns.”  
“All right, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean explains, shrugging and starting the car up with it’s familiar vroom. Jane continues reading though, snapping both brothers out of their success.  
“ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ ”  
Sam sighs and slouches down in the car, running a hand through his hair. Can’t they just have one easy case? “So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we don’t know where he’s gonna be next.”  
“And, we don’t know why either,” Dean finishes. God, this whole situation is kinda shit.  
“Well I’ll take a guess,” Jane responds, tapping Dean on the shoulder to signal him to begin driving. “I think it has something to do with your little friend Lori.”  
*********  
Sam never liked college parties. Too much drinking, too many drugs, too many people trying to hit on each other, too much noise, it’s just all too much. Jessica agreed with him for the most part, but did force him to a few. Like the one they had been to the night before he left.  
She was a nurse. He was just Sam.  
She was gorgeous.  
Now she was-  
“Hey,” Jane says, breaking him out of his haze. She’s been sticking close to him this whole time, trying to use him like a human shield. He isn’t stopping her. “You okay?”  
“Yeah,” he responds, forcing a smile as Dean saunters over, glancing at every blonde he can see. He’s smiling too, obviously loving this whole situation.  
“Man, you’ve been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome!” Sam laughs at the comment that is just so Dean, his fake smile becoming genuine.  
“Well this wasn’t really my experience.”  
“Good,” Jane quips with a wink, glancing around with confusion. “This whole thing makes me want to take a shower.”  
Dean rolls his eyes and Jane shifts even closer to Sam so a tall guy can pass-he’s holding at least three different types of alcohol. He shelters her with his arm. “You two nerds do the homework?”  
“Yeah. It was bugging me, right?” Sam says, glad to be in an element he can understand. “So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think we found up with something.” Jane uncrumples a piece of paper from her back pocket and holds it up to the dim lighting so she can read it.  
“ ‘1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage.’ ”  
“Okay…” Dean begins, raising his eyebrows. “Still don’t see the connection.”  
“There’s a pattern,” Sam explains. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality, and then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out with-get this-a sharp instrument.”  
Dean still looks stumped. “What’s the connection to Lori?”  
“A man of religion?” Jane questions, taking a step forward and throwing out her hands as if to show him the ties. “A man who openly preaches against immorality?” As if she turned a key, his brother’s face changes into understanding. “Except this time, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his daughter.”  
“The Reverend,” Dean finishes, finally connecting the dots. God, took him long enough. “You think he’s, what, summoning the spirit?”  
“Maybe,” Sam tries with a shrug. This is the part they hadn’t quite figured out yet. “Or, you know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?”  
“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”  
“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Jane finishes, all of them finally on the same page. “Either way, Sam should keep an eye on Lori for the night.” He offers Jay a silent thank you for the suggestion-better him than Dean.  
“Sounds good,” Dean responds. His eyes stay trained on a brunette at the pool table who’s staring at him with more lust than one person should be able to summon. He sighs. “I’m gonna go find that unmarked grave. Jay?”  
Sam glances at Jane too, silently begging her to make the right choice of who to go with here. With a smile she steps towards Dean.  
“I’ll go with De.”  
*********  
When Sam finally tracks down Lori, she’s at her Dad’s house, a small place a few blocks away from the church. There’s yelling coming from inside, a man’s yelling. And a woman-a girl-yelling back. It goes on for a few minutes while Sam sits on the curb, trying his best to look inconspicuous.  
When it does end, Sam hears a door slams and he starts, standing up and getting ready to find a ne stakeout spot, but he’s stopped by someone.  
It’s Lori, standing behind him with her eyebrows raised and her arms crossed. She doesn’t look mad though, and after a second of Sam stuttering and trying to explain himself she sits down next to him. All kindness, no malice. Small smile, sweet eyes. Green eyes.  
“I saw you from upstairs,” She explains. “What are you doing here?”  
“I’m keeping an eye on the place.” He shrugs and looks at the cement for a second, the light from a passing car illuminating Lori’s face and making her hair glow. “I was worried.”  
“About me?” She asks, her gaze snapping up to match his.  
“Yeah,” he responds. Wow, way to be cool. “Sorry.” Oh yeah, that’s the right thing to say.  
“No, it’s cool,” She responds with a shrug, surprising Sam. “I already called the cops on you.” She smiles again, all big and wide and ridiculously pretty and Sam can’t help but laugh, throw his head back and really laugh in a way he hasn’t done in months. Not since-  
“Which is probably why you should run away from me as fast as you can.”  
Sam’s shocked by the sudden change of tone and his laugh dies in his throat, cut off by some invisible barrier. “Why would you say that?”  
“It’s like I’m cursed or something. People around me keep dying.”  
Jessica.  
Mom.  
Who’s next?  
Dean?  
Jane?  
“Yeah, I think I know how you feel.”  
“No one will talk to me anymore,” she continues, her voice layered with sadness Sam just wants to grab and yank out of her. No one deserves to feel this way, except maybe him. But god, he doesn’t want to. “Except you.”  
“The sheriff thinks I’m a suspect. And you know what my dad will say? Pray,” she mocks, throwing her hands up in the air. “Have faith. What does he know about faith?”  
Sam clears his throat and looks down again, embarrassed about the amount of stalking he’s done. “I heard you guys fighting before.”  
“He’s seeing a woman,” Lori explains, her words sharp and bitter. “A married woman. I just found out. She comes to our church with her husband. I know her kids. And he talks to me about religion? About morality?” She scoffs, causing her entire body to come that much closer to Sam’s and his stomach flutters a little bit. “It’s like, on one hand, you know, just do what you want and be happy. But he taught me, raised me to believe that if you do something wrong you will get punished. I just don’t know what to think anymore.” When she finishes, she stares at Sam, as if she’s expecting an answer. But he can’t think of anything to say.  
They’re inches away from each other. 6 inches, 2 inches, 1-they’re kissing.  
Lori’s lips on Sam’s and her hair brushing his cheek. They’re kissing. But it’s not right.  
It’s soft and delicate, like a question instead of like an answer, like Jessica’s was.  
Her hands rest on his shoulder, barely pressing down, instead of holding onto his neck like he might disappear, like Jessica did.  
And she’s not Jessica. No matter how nice she is, how pretty she is, how much her smile makes his insides twist, it’s not her.  
Because Jessica Moore is dead.  
He pulls away quickly, and part of him wants to sob and part of him wants to scream and most of him wants to throw up, because how dare he? Jessica…left not even two months ago and here he is kissing another girl under a streetlight like nothing’s wrong, like he didn’t just watch the person he wanted to marry burn to death two goddamn months ago.  
“Sam?” But Lori’s still there.  
“Lori,” he begins, and his voice shakes on the word because after a kiss like that he should be saying ‘god, Jess’ or ‘I love you so much’ and not a different name. “I can’t.”  
But Lori’s not offended. She smiles, kinda sad but also full of understanding and she scoots over an inch so Sam can sit back down onto the curb, 6 inches away again.  
“Is that who you lost?” And he can’t answer. He just hopes Jess is up there somewhere and that she can hear his silent apologies. “I’m sorry.”  
And it seems a little more right after that.  
“Lori?” The kinda sad, kinda dream-like moment is broken by the Reverend’s voice, commanding attention even at 1am on a Saturday night. “Come inside, please.”  
“I’ll come in when I’m ready,” she snaps, suddenly all sharp edges instead of the soft girl from seconds ago. And then the Hook Man appears.  
And he slams that damn hook of his straight through the Reverend’s shoulder.  
The Reverend screams and the door of the house slams at the same time, creating this strange high pitched echo that has both Lori and Sam frozen for a moment, but then it’s gone and Sam’s running.  
He races to the other side of the sidewalk and grabs the salt-shotgun from where he had stashed it under the three, getting ready to fire it in seconds flat. He bursts into the house with more certainty than he should, but he sees nothing except a bunch of wooden splinters.  
Lori’s breathing hard. His heart is beating so fast he can hear it in his ears, just one constant roar. And then the roar is met with a man’s scream from upstairs, and he’s dashing up those as the Reverend screams no, no, over and over.  
Once he gets up the stairs he breaks through another door and there he is. The famous Hook Man. He’s pale and wearing all black tattered clothes. And then there’s the hook.  
It’s long and shiny, long stained by blood causing the silver to look more bronze than anything else. It’s curved like a hook, and it almost looks like something out of a fairytale. It kinda is. And it’s 1 inch away from the Reverend’s throat.  
With a blast that rocks Sam back onto his heels, he fires the gun at the spirit, blasting him into wisps of smoke. After Sam determines that he’s gone he motions for Lori to enter the room.  
She kneels down next to the Reverend and helps him sit up before hugging him tightly. Like she’s trying to squeeze all the air out of him or something  
Sam wants to smile. He wants to comfort Lori and her dad and be happy because he just saved someone. But he can’t. Because the Hook Man’s still alive, and he certainly isn’t connected to Reverend Sorenson.  
But he might be connected to Lori.  
*********  
Sam explains his theory to Dean, hating every second of it. He hates that he’s admitting that this…this thing is connected to Lori, to the sweet girl. He wanted it to be the Reverend that was responsible for these killings, some old man it was easy to dislike, but it’s not. It can’t be. It all lines up too perfectly.  
Lori finds out her Dad is having an affair. He’s attacked.  
Lori’s roommate is partying too much. She’s killed.  
Lori’s making out with some guy and he goes too far. He’s killed.  
I was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you will get punished.  
Jane just kinda stands there after the whole thing’s revealed, letting it sink in. She looks disappointed. She looks scared.  
Dean sighs. “Remind me not to piss that girl off.” Jane punches him lightly in the arm, but her eyes stay trained to the ground. She’s thinking.  
“We burned the bones though. I saw them go up myself. That should’ve stopped him, right?”  
“You must have missed something,” Sam tries, shrugging slightly. Dean shakes his head in denial, catching onto the conversation thread.  
“No, I watched that coffin burn. Everything’s gone.”  
“Did you get the hook?”  
“The hook?” Dean and Jane speak in synch.  
“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him.”  
Jane nods along with the conversation, obviously following his point. The smartest in the room, always. “So if we find the hook...”  
“We stop the Hook Man.” Sam can’t help but smile at her, impressed as always.  
Dean rolls his eyes. “You guys have got to stop being smarter than me.”  
*********  
“Here’s something, I think. Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal affects: disposition thereof.”  
Jane nods along to Dean’s words, peeking over the top of her stolen book. She hadn’t done any work since they got to the library, but Sam isn’t heartless enough to stop her from reading. He used to be like that too, and Dean never stopped him. Dad was another story.  
“Does it mention the hook?” She asks, dog-earing her page and sitting up straighter.  
“I don’t know, does it?” Dean snarks back as he tosses her the paper. She rolls her eyes and starts reading the paper, mumbling the words under her breath.  
“ ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Chruch.’ ”  
Sam curses. “That’s where Lori lives.”  
“Then that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past 200 years.”  
“Okay yeah,” Jane counters, “but if the hook were at the church, don’t you think someone would’ve seen it? I mean, bloodstained, silver hook? Not exactly casual church stuff.”  
Dean shrugs and leans back in his chair, mirroring Jane from a few minutes earlier. “Check the church records.”  
Sam sighs and heads back to another corner of the library, tuning out Jane and Dean’s faint bickering behind him. He pulls out the file and tosses it at them again, leaning against the bookshelf silently.  
The Hook Man is tied to Lori. Lori is behind all this. It’s her fault.  
He likes the person who killed these people.  
He kissed the person who killed these people.  
“Hey college boy!” Jay calls, throwing her book at his head. He dodges it just in time, letting it smack against the bookshelf with a loud thunk.  
“They melted the fucking thing down. Let’s go steal from a church.”  
*********  
The church feels more ominous now. Maybe it’s the way the moonlight reflects on the windows, or maybe it’s the fact that Sam knows that somewhere in there-probably disguised as a candlestick-is a murder weapon.  
Is it really Lori’s fault? She didn’t summon the spirit or anythi-  
“Alright, we can’t take any chances.” Dean shakes him out of it, as always. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”  
“Yeah,” Sam agrees, clearing his throat and trying to think about anything and anyone other than-  
“Lori’s still at the hospital.” Jane shuts her door in time with the words, like someone smacking him on the head with a mallet. “We have to break in. I’m going to the church, you two decide who’s going to the house.” She gestures over to the house now, but all Sam can see is the curb he kissed Lori on.  
Sam would kill for some amnesia right about now.  
“I’ll take the house,” Sam blurts out, some deep part of him betraying the fact that he still feels attracted to her. After everything she’s done.  
Has she even done anything?  
Dean smirks and follows Jay into the church, shooting him a wink. “Stay out of her underwear drawer.”  
There’s a surprising amount of silver things in the house-so many that Sam begins to think they aren’t all silver. He almost mindlessly collects any item he can find that shines, pacing around the house hurriedly.  
He doesn’t know what he’s doing  
Is Lori to blame for all of this? Is this all her fault?  
No.  
It’s not her fault. It’s fucking Jacob Karns and no one else’s.  
Sam finds himself speaking the words out loud. It feels like a million pounds are taken off of his chest and thrown to the side, everything suddenly clear. It shouldn’t have been that hard, it shouldn’t have even been an issue.  
Jessica’s death and his attraction to Lori were screwing with his mind, making him blame people that shouldn’t be blamed. This isn’t her fault.  
This isn’t her fault.  
Sam walks back into the church with a new confidence. He takes his bag of stuff and dumps it at Jane’s feet, kicking a goblet that was rolling away back into the pile.  
“I got everything that even looked silver.”  
At the same time as Jane mutters overkill Dean walks over to him and claps him on the shoulder. “Better safe than sorry.”  
The three head upstairs, carrying a few bags of silver between them, but someone is waiting.  
“Lori?”  
Her face is tear-streaked and red, and her hands are clasped in front of her. Even when she looks up and makes eye contact with Sam she continues praying, muttering under her breath hurriedly. “What are you doing here?”  
“Praying,” she states matter-of-factly. With a single glance Sam issues his siblings away and takes a seat next to her, smiling in a way he hopes is comforting.  
“It’s late at night. What’s wrong?”  
“I’m praying for forgiveness.”  
And god help him, the first thing that comes to Sam’s mind is ‘I already forgive you’.  
But he doesn’t say anything, he just shakes his head and takes her hand. It doesn’t feel like Jessica’s does.  
But for some reason it does feel right.  
“I’ve read in the Bible about avenging angels, and-” Sam almost scoffs at her words, but holds back any snarky comments he can think of.  
“This guy’s no angel, trust me.”  
“I was just, so angry at my father,” she explains, as if Sam doesn’t understand, as if he doesn’t know. “Part of me wanted him punished. And then he came and he punished him.”  
“It’s not your fault.”  
“Yes, it is,” she insists. She tightens her hold on his hand and sniffs slightly. “I don’t know how, but it is. I killed Rich. And Taylor. And I nearly killed my own father.”  
“Lori...” he tries again. He wants to do something to fix this, to snap his fingers and make it all better. “It’s okay Lori, really. You didn’t know.”  
His words fall on deaf ears.  
“I can see it now. Those people, they didn’t deserve to be punished.”  
“I do.”  
With a faint whooshing sound the candles at the front of the church-candles that Lori probably lit herself-go out.  
And just like that, the Hook Man’s after Lori.  
“We gotta go.” Sam squeezes her hand even tighter and practically drags her towards the nearby door to the church basement. His heartbeat is in time with his footsteps, and those two things are all he can hear. Lori doesn’t let go of his hand.  
Just as he gets to the door the knob explodes into splinters, the rusted brassy knob being replaced with a sharp silver hook, stained with blood. “GO!” He calls, pivoting on his heel and running back down the aisle of a church. Like a couple after their wedding. Then again, most newlyweds aren’t about to be murdered by a vengeful ghost. The get to the hallway of the church and Sam slams the doors to the cathedral, stained glass and all.  
Moments after he turns the knob he supposes is a lock the aforementioned glass breaks way, the red and gold pieces flying across the hall and slicing a clean line on the side of Lori’s face. She cries out in pain and squeezes Sam’s hand even tighter.  
And at that moment, Sam swears that he won’t let that fucking ghost get anywhere near this girl.  
Sam shoves her down the hallway and begins running again, staying safely behind her the whole time. He can hear the sounds of more glass shattering and he can almost feel Hook Man running behind him, swinging his weapon wildly.  
Finally they reach another room, and Sam almost cries with relief. Lori’s hand touches the knob and she’s about to turn it when Sam feels a piercing pain in his shoulder.  
For a second that’s all he can feel.  
Then it all comes back and his heart is beating too fast, and the Hook Man is too close and fucking terrifying, and Lori is screaming and something shoves her ‘til she’s lying flat on her back, and Sam wants his big brother, and he wants his little sister, and goddamnit he wants his Jess.  
And then it’s still.  
“Are you okay?” He asks, willing himself to walk over to Lori and where she’s laying down, her golden-brown hair fanning around her head in a way that’s almost pretty if the situation didn’t suck so much.  
She nods shakily, reaching upward to grab his hand and let Sam help her stand and probably hug her, but then she gasps. And the Hook Man is back.  
The same force that shoved Lori slams into Sam and sends him flying into the wall. Sam can hear something break and his shoulder feels like someone jabbed it with a burning poke, but none of that is as bad as the sight of the Hook Man standing over Lori, raising his hook so he can slice her throat with it.  
Nothing is worse that the thought that he failed.  
But like a light in the darkness, the two people who always come arrive, shotguns in hand. “DROP!” Dean yells, and Sam lets his legs give out s just as the round from his older brother’s gun flies right into the Hook Man’s chest. He disappears in a puff of smoke, flying off to wherever spirits go to take a nap.  
“I thought we got all the silver,” Jane comments, walking over to Sam and gesturing for him to shrug off his jacket. He does with a wince, and he can tell his sister doesn’t like the amount of blood there.  
“So did I,” he chokes out, trying not to make pained sounds as she gently prods at the new hole in his muscles.  
“Then why is he still here?” She asks. Her tone isn’t accusatory, just confused. That’s one of ‘those things’ about Jane. She never makes you feel stupid unless she wants to.  
“We missed something,” Dean answers, glancing at Jane as she finishes her check up. She offers a nod (he’s okay for now) and walks back over to him. Sam doesn’t care at this point though, because he’s focused on Lori.  
Or more specifically, the chain around Lori’s neck.  
“Lori, where did you get that necklace?”  
“My father gave it to me…” she answers, brushing some dust off of her jeans and taking a slow shaky step towards him.  
“Where’d your Dad get it?”  
“He said it was a church heirloom.” Sam’s heartbeat picks up again, but this time it’s hope.  
“Is it silver.”  
“Yes.”  
Sam yanks it off of her neck in one smooth motion, beginning his race back to the basement-and the fire-just as he hears another sickening whoosh noise. He’s back.  
“Keep her safe!” He orders, motioning to his siblings, who take practiced defensive positions in response. Sam clutches onto the silver chain like it’s a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It’s the only thing that can stop this.  
The fire comes into view now, crackling and simmering in a way only burning metal creates. He tosses the necklace in as soon as he can, throwing it right into the center of the whole shebang.  
And everything is finally still.  
*********  
The next night, Sam dreams of Jess. It’s his turn to share the bed with Jane, so she’s kinda curled into his side in that way that makes her seem so much smaller than she actually is, the way that always makes Sam knock out in two seconds.  
She’s there, and she’s alive, her hair flowing behind her like a waterfall of gold, her dress white and gorgeous, and god she’s so beautiful.  
She puts her hand on his shoulder, right where his wound is-was. Jane patched it up pretty damn well.  
And she just smiles.  
Sam wonders if she’s watching. He wonders is she’s happy.  
He wonders if she’s proud.


	8. Unsolved (original 'episode')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings-serial killer, ptsd, torture, crying, angst, brief mention of throwing up, nightmares, drinking, Sam isn't as important as he probably should be, some things that feel kinda like incest but THEY AREN'T I SWEAR, a girl named Felicity,
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

Sam was at Stanford for almost four years, and in all that time, Dean only called once.  
He didn’t pick up.  
*********  
Jane has three different nightmares consistently, and Dean can tell which one it is by how she reacts.  
One of them only started after the Bloody Mary case a few weeks ago. She’ll wake up and start clawing at her eyes, like she’s trying to rip them out, and she’ll yell the name ‘Lucas’ over and over. This one’s the easiest to recover from, as all she really needs is a reminder that she’s awake now. Dean will grab her shoulders and tell her he’s here over and over and then she’ll eventually lay back down with her back to him. She’ll always end up closer before the night is over though.  
The next one she’s had as long as Dean can remember. He doesn’t know much about it, only that it involves fire. She always cries after this one, and clings to Dean (or Sam) like if she lets go they’ll disappear. It’s moments like this that reminds Dean how young she is. How small and fragile but also strong she is. She falls asleep holding onto him like that. He never stops her.  
The other one is the worst. She’ll scream and cry and claw at the scar on her side like if she scratches hard enough it’ll come off and she tells him over and over to ‘make it stop’ and ‘save me’. Dean usually cries too. That’s the dream that sticks with her for a few days, making her jumpy and tense. He always holds her closest after that one.  
Sam doesn’t know what that one’s about. Dean does.  
*********  
The night they find the case Jane has the third nightmare, and Dean doesn’t wake up fast enough.  
“DEAN!” She screams, which startles him awake faster than anything else can in the world. Sam’s already with her, but he looks helpless. His hand is on her shoulder and he’s got his other hand carding through her hair, but she’s not responding to it. Of course she isn’t. He doesn’t know.  
“DEAN SAVE ME, HELP PLEASE!”  
“Jay,” Sam tries, shifting so she can see his face. Her eyes show no recognition of him. “It’s me, I’m here, you’re safe.”  
“DEAN HELP!” Finally he’s awake enough to move over to her, grabbing her arms and turning her head so she can see him. She stills almost instantly. “DEAN!”  
“Yeah, it’s me Jane, I gotcha.” She stops scratching at her side.  
“You got me?”  
“Yeah, I got you. You’re safe.”  
“Safe…” she repeats, her fogged up brain too scared to form more than a few words at a time. Sam scoots back on his bed, giving the two of them some space. He looks confused and scared, like they’re speaking another language. “Dean?”  
“Yeah?” He answers, making sure to keep his voice soft and calm. Retain eye contact, no harsh touches or sudden movements, make her feel safe.  
“Is he gone?” Dean wants to say yes. He wants to say he’s dead and buried somewhere far, far away. But he can’t.  
“No. But he’s not anywhere near you, and he never will be again. I’ll protect you.” Jane studies his face, as if looking for the lie there, but there isn’t one.  
“Okay,” she mumbles, leaning her head onto his shoulder and fisting his shirt like a baby. God, she’s so young. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t yell anymore, just holds onto him and lets him maneuver her tiny body into the bed so she’s completely enveloped by him. So he’s protecting her.  
Dean doesn’t sleep.  
Jane doesn’t either.  
Sam tries to pretend he does.  
**********  
The next morning Jane suggests they go out for breakfast. Dean figures she’s just trying to shift the attention off of her, but goes with her suggestion. They drive to the diner a few miles away and order food. Jane doesn’t eat much. No one comments on it.  
“Hey Jane?” Sam asks.  
“Yeah?” She pokes at the pancakes on her plate, raising her eyebrows in a silent ‘go on’.  
“What happened last night?” Dean rolls his eyes but stays out of it. If she wants to answer she will. Jane shrugs and takes a small bite of her food.  
“Nightmare. You offended I went to Dean this time or something?” Sam smiles a little bit and shoves her arm but doesn’t laugh. “Next time I wake up screaming I’ll climb into your bed like a four-year old.”  
Dean wants to object and to tell her he doesn’t mind that-hell, it helps him sleep most nights. Knowing that she’s safe and next to him brings him peace like almost nothing else, but he knows she’d deflect it with some humor and move on. Wonder where she learned that from.  
“Jane, I’ve seen you have nightmares. That was different.”  
“Not all nightmares are made the same Sam,” she answers, smirking up at her older brother and taking a sip of her cocoa. “And I’m fine, so don’t worry about it.”  
After a tense moment between all the siblings Sam sighs and takes out his laptop. “I think I found us a case.”  
Dean quirks an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to find Dad?”  
“Yeah yeah,” he responds, typing something into the search bar. “Here. Five girls gone missing in a small town near Oakland.”  
“That’s near Stanford,” Jane comments matter-of-factly. “You want to go on a visit or something?” Sam shrugs.  
“No, I just thought we could help some people.” He sounds sincere, and Dean feels a rush of pride. That’s the Sam he grew up with, the one who would help people no matter what. Instantly he’s more interested in the case.  
“Okay, so why is this our kinda thing? Just sounds like a serial killer or something.”  
“Because, when the bodies started to turn up, the Sigil of Lucifer was carved into them.” Now Dean’s interested. Jane frowns.  
“Still could be a person. Some crazy psycho who worships Satan.”  
“Or it could be a demon.” She has to give into that, deciding to take another sip of the hot chocolate instead of responding.  
“Any similarities between the victims?”  
“Yeah,” Sam responds, smiling as his brother shows interest in his findings. “All blonde, all around 14 years old.” Jane tenses. Sam doesn’t notice.  
“Okay then, let’s check it out.” Jane’s face remains scrunched up with some emotion Dean can’t place for the entire car ride.  
Two hours in she falls asleep, her breaths blending in with the rumble of the Impala. She deserves some sleep after all that.  
*********  
2 Years Ago  
“Stay awake Jane, stay awake.” Her head is in his lap, but her eyes aren’t open or closed. This isn’t like when Jane takes a nap in the front seat and lays across Dean’s lap, using a sweatshirt as a pillow. This is so, so, so much worse.  
Dean can feel the blood-Jane’s blood, his 13 year old baby sister’s blood, soaking into his jeans and all he wants to do is throw up but he can’t, he can’t he’s gotta get his baby sister-his Jane-home so he can help her.  
“Stay with me Jane, stay with me.” She moans and makes a sound that sounds kinda like a word, and Dean almost stops the car so he can hear it but he remembers that she’s dying and he keeps driving. “Just stay with me.”  
“De…” The word is clearer now and Dean wants to pull over even more, he wants to pull over and cry and hold her so close she can’t breathe but he just keeps his foot on the gas and his eyes on the road. He does move one hand down to play with her hair though, and that seems to calm her down a bit. “De…hurts….”  
Something smudges his vision, but he doesn’t know what. It’s certainly not raining, so why is there water on the windshield? “I know kid, I know. Just hold on okay?”  
God, there’s so much blood.  
Dean thinks she nods, because her head moves, and for a second he’s glad because she’s coherent and okay but then she makes this kinda choked sobbing noise and he almost crashes the car because she sounds so weak and scared and small, she sounds like a little kid.  
Hell, she is a little kid.  
“Hold on, okay?” Another one of those sounds. Something falls on Dean’s cheek. “Hold on baby, hold on. We’re almost there.” His hands are shaking so hard he can barely feel the steering wheel beneath them. “I got you.”  
Dean wants to let Jane sleep. She deserves some sleep after all that.  
*********  
“Hello I’m Agent Wayne, this is Agent Knowles and his intern Mary Francis, we’re here to examine the bodies of the girls recently found?” Sam’s tone is practiced, professional, and Dean feels proud of the fact that the nervous kid from a few weeks ago is now lying about being an FBI agent with ease. The receptionist at the morgue peers over her glasses at the three of them, her attention drawn to Jane.  
“I didn’t know the FBI had interns,” she croaks, her fingers shaking as she leans back in her chair. God, shouldn’t she be retired by now. Dean steps forward, ready to take the question.  
“We usually don’t but Mary here was just too smart to pass up.”  
“And y’know,” Jane jumps in, smiling that award winning smile that old ladies across the nation fall in love with. “Connections don’t hurt.” The woman winks and she winks back, her smile turning more genuine. It’s the first time Dean’s seen her smile since the nightmare. He smiles too.  
“Right this way gentleman,” the woman says, standing up and waddling over to a door and directing them too a series of five body vaults. “Work hard sweetie,” she finishes as she exits the room.  
“Wow,” he comments, clapping Jay on the shoulder. “She liked you.”  
“Who could blame her?” She answers. The smile quickly falls from her face when Sam takes out the first body.  
“Felicia Brant,” Sam announces. Even Dean is a little chilled by the corpse being so young-and so similar to Jane. Almost everything about her is the same as Jane. From age-which is 15-to eye color, they’re identical.  
And then there’s the sigil. It’s carved into her shoulder, and deep too. Not a light scratch, a fatal wound.  
“Cause of death, blood loss.”  
The symbol is some strange combination of an x, a triangle and a v shape. It’s big too, about six inches wide and eight inches tall. Just looking at it makes Dean’s skin crawl.  
“That’s the symbol. Lucifer’s Sigil, usually used as a sign of worship or devotion.”  
There’s also rope marks around her wrists, ankles, and necks, and a puncture wound in her neck. She was drugged, probably knocked out. Spent her last moments in a pain-filled, foggy haze. Someone tied her up, tight enough to cause bruises. Probably because she was struggling. God, she was so young.  
“There’s also traces of certain drugs in her system and-guys?” Dean snaps out of his haze pretty quickly, putting on that professional lens he’s grown used to using when the case becomes to gory for his liking. Jane doesn’t. Her eyes are glazed over as she stares at the girl, her face pale and her feet planted. And Dean knows why.  
This is too familiar. He’s seen those bruises, he knows those marks. Minus the symbol, this the exact same as the incident 2 years ago. He’s bandaged those wrists and waited for the effects of those drugs to wear off.  
He’s held Jane when she cried.  
It’s too familiar.  
“Sorry,” he answers hurriedly, trying to show Sam that absolutely nothing whatsoever is wrong. “This just uh…this is familiar.”  
Sam’s face scrunches up. “What do you mean?”  
“There was a case a few years back,” he begins, choosing his words carefully. “Well we thought it was a case. Missing girl, interest in Satanism. We figured it was something but uh…it wasn’t. Just a psychopath who really liked torturing teenage girls.”  
“Where was it?”  
“Near here.”  
“Was he caught?”  
Dean glances at Jane. She’s still staring at the body, eyes trailing over the pale skin and blue eyes. “No. We didn’t get him.”  
“And you think this is him?”  
Dean sighs. “Seems like it.” Sam shakes his head and glances back at his sister, freezing in place when he sees her worried eyes and frown.  
“Wait…” he begins, picking his words as carefully as Dean was. He takes a step forward as if he doesn’t want Jane to hear. “Was this ‘case’,” he uses air quotes around the word, “the one the nightmare is about?”  
This snaps Jane back to reality, her eyes darting over to the two of them faster than should be possible. “Yes,” she bites out, glaring at Sam. “That’s what the nightmare’s about, now can we find evidence or something?” Dean’s eyebrows raise. “You mean you wanna keep looking?”  
“Yeah.”  
Sam hesitates before speaking. “Do you think this is the same guy-”  
“Yes.”  
“Listen, Jay,” Dean sits down in a chair and makes his eyes wide and ‘safe’, trying to radiate reasonability. This isn’t his usual job in this family, but it seems to be the one he’s playing today. “We don’t have to do this.”  
“Yeah,” Sam picks up. “I mean, I don’t know what happened-“  
“And you never will know.”  
“Right,” he looks down for a moment and blinks a few times, clearing his brain. “But if this is the same guy, it’s not our thing. We can let the cops take this one.”  
She stares at the two of them for a second, looking so small even in her ‘grown up’ dress and little heels. And for a second she looks like she’s about to accept their offer and walk away from this whole mess, but then-to Dean’s dismay-her face hardens and she tilts her chin up in defiance.  
“No. We don’t know it’s him and if it is him, we’ve got to stop him. We can’t let him hurt anyone else.”  
*********  
2 Years Ago  
Dean starts on her wrists, because she doesn’t make that awful noise when he puts ice on them and bandages them. Next he moves onto her ankles, which are almost the same except that there’s a cut that needs stitches on one of them. She cries silently while he stitches it up.  
The motel blanket is covered with mud and blood-Jane’s blood, Jane’s goddamn blood-by the time he finishes with those, but he doesn’t even think about what excuse he’s going to give to the staff tomorrow morning because the girl laying in front of him is more important. Hell, the sun could explode and every tiny bit of his attention would still be on her.  
Next he moves onto her neck, which is probably the most sickening part of the whole thing. There’s rope burn-goddamn rope burn-around Jane’s neck. He puts some ointment on them and places a kiss on her forehead. He doesn’t do that a lot, but she stops whimpering for a second when he does so he decides he should do it more often.  
Finally he moves onto the cuts. That’s when he starts crying.  
There are two deep slashes into her hip-so deep he can see the bone-and any time he gets anywhere near them Jane starts twitching and screaming and fucking sobbing like a scared little kid.  
She screams while he cleans them with alcohol, screams so loud Dean’s worried the staff will come knock on their door and starts asking questions. He gets a few seconds in but then has to stop when she calls out his name. He stops, and helps her sit up and just holds onto her for a second.  
“It’s gonna be okay,” he says. “I got you, I got you Jay.” She’s making herself so small that she’s curling into herself, but she’s also pulling herself so close to Dean that he thinks they might mold together. And god, does it feel right.  
He starts crying at the same time she does, both of their bodies shaking with relief and pain and fear and sorrow and trauma and the only thing Dean can think to do is to keep holding her, keep protecting her.  
Keep his little sister safe.  
“Don’t worry Jay. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let him hurt you again.”  
*********  
When they get back to the hotel room after the morgue visit, Sam announces (to the silent room) that he’s gonna go get some groceries, leaving Dean alone with a shaken-up Jay.  
“Hey,” he tries, watching her take her hair out of the semi-perfect bun she had done up this morning. “How are you?”  
She scoffs slightly and tosses her shoes to the side, hitting the walls with a satisfying thunk. “Fine Dean. I’m not a little kid, I’m okay.”  
He runs and hand across his forehead. He’s just trying to be helpful. Y’know, be the touchy feely person Sam and her always want him to be. “You’re not a little kid, Jay.”  
A scoff. “Thanks for the compliment.”  
“But-”  
“No buts.” She flops back on the bed and sighs dramatically. “God, you’re as bad as Sam.”  
There’s another silence that makes the walls feel like they’re closing in. Dean stands up and adjusts some stuff around the room, looks at some files, puts away some clothes, just busy work. Something in him wants to hug her, but he won’t stoop that low. No chick-flick moments.  
Something else is bugging him though, some feeling deep down that he hasn’t addressed in a few years. Guilt.  
“It’s my fault y’know.” No reaction. “You were only thirteen and I let you come with me.”  
“No,” she contradicts, “I made you take me. We’re tied.”  
“But I’m supposed to look after you.” She outright laughs at this one, throwing her head to the side in some cruel mockery of her normal laugh. She’s not smiling and it’s all so wrong.  
“Don’t start with that bullshit Dad loaded onto you, I can take care of myself.” Dean has nothing to say to that one, only an apologetic glance and a forced smile.  
“Yeah, you can kid.” He stands up and wanders over, flopping down next to her. She doesn’t move away. “Just…if it ever becomes too much…this case-“  
“I’ll tell you,” she finishes. “Promise.”  
They stay like that for a bit, just laying next to each other and pointing out constellations on the popcorn ceiling like they’re stars or some shit. Eventually they turn on the TV and watch old Friends reruns. Jane laughs-a real laugh-at all the right parts.  
Sam comes back into the room with a bang, nearly slamming the door into the wall. They both sit up at the same time, Jane knocking a pillow to the floor with the force of her motion.  
“They found another body.”  
*********  
When they get to the alley the girl-14 year old Gina Harwell-was in, it’s almost 10 o’clock and it’s raining slightly, giving the whole crime scene a weird feeling. Almost like it’s a dream, or a scene out of a bad police TV show.  
Sam approaches the whole situation with another level of care now, speaking in vague terms about the wounds and offering to let Jane walk away whenever she wants. She doesn’t answer most question, just stares at the body blankly and takes little notes in her notebook. She does ask the medical examiner there if there’s a symbol-there is. It’s on her hip this time.  
When she walks back over to Dean her hands are shaking, and when she talks her voice does too. “I need to uh…take a walk.” She says. For the first time, Dean can see fear there. He nods.  
“Go ahead. Do you uh…” He pauses. “Is it him?”  
Jane winces and takes a deep breath but nods. “Rope around the neck, cable on the wrists, shackles on the feet. It’s him.”  
With that she pivots and turns off into the mist. Dean wanders over to Sam, who’s just finishing a conversation with the coroner.  
“What’d he say?”  
“Not much. Same wounds, same cause of death as the other girls.” He glances around a little bit and leans into Dean. “The body’s fresh. The police think the guy’s still around here.” Dean’s heart stops in his chest.  
Jane.  
God, no.  
*********  
Jane wakes up in a fog, the world spinning in and out of focus. Nothing is right. The sounds feel muted and her tongue is too dry. Everything is gray.  
There’s a rope around her neck. It feels familiar.  
There’s shackles cutting into her ankles. Same as they did last time.  
The cables are tying her wrists to the table, tilted on it’s side. It’s exactly the same.  
And then he walks into view, and Jane’s heart literally stops in her chest for a second. She tries to yell her brother’s names, but they die in her throat. She’s so fucking scared.  
“Jane. I never finished you.”  
*********  
Dean remembers the way he felt when Jane went the first time. He remembers the panic, the bottle he broke, the way he threw up cause he was so panicked and terrified for her. He remembers it like it was yesterday.  
This is so much worse.  
They look for her for hours, scouring the back alley and calling her again and again. Eventually they find her phone in a pile of trash and he throws up, leaning over the alley while Sam just stands there awkwardly, and Dean wants to punch him but he can’t, he’s too scared. And he doesn’t even know.  
“Dean-“ he tries. “Maybe she went back to the room.”  
“She didn’t go back to the fucking room Sammy,” and it’s too many words for him to say because his voice shakes dangerously and Sam even winces at the words.  
“Well then maybe we should go back to the room-”  
“SAM SHE’S FUCKING MISSING!” That’s when he explodes. He can feel something like fire in his chest except it’s not hot it’s cold and terrifying. God, she’s missing. And yes she can handle herself and yes she’s strong and brave but it’s Jane for god’s sake, it’s his baby sister. He protects her, that’s how it works. That’s how it’s been since she was a baby, newborn and swaddled in his arms.  
“SHE’S MISSING, HE HAS HER! FUCK!” He punches the wall. It hurts, it really fucking hurts but he doesn’t really care. “SAMMY I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO I’M SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HER AND I FUCKING-”  
“DEAN!” Sam’s yell snaps him out of it, as it always does because he cares about him just as much as he cares about Jane, and hearing him in pain elicits the exact same response. He grabs Dean’s arm and although it makes some spike of pain run through him he doesn’t pull away. “We will find her. We will.”  
He sounds so sure. Dean doesn’t feel that way.  
“But until then we need to research. We need to look for her someplace else, because she isn’t here.” Hand on his back, pushing him towards the Impala. “Let’s go back to the room, and look from there.”  
So he goes back to the room.  
*********  
Even after that, Dean can’t quite look Sam straight in the eye. Because whenever he looks he remembers that he doesn’t know, and he remembers that he didn’t pick up the phone. He does, however, research like hell. Hacks traffic cameras, listens to police scanners, call people who live around the crime scene. Nothing.  
It’s like she teleported somewhere.  
When Dean accidentally falls asleep (and god, does he feel bad about it) he dreams of that. She’s walking through the alley and shaking a little bit, and then there’s a noise. She turns and jumps into that defensive system that Dean taught her, instantly her hunter instincts take over. The noise happens again, and someone moves in the shadows, and Dean tries to warn her but the sound doesn’t move, it’s like screaming into a cement wall. But before the man can get her she smiles, and looks right at him, and then disappears. And she’s safe.  
He wakes up and tries to hide his tears, then goes back to work. Traffic cams, police scanners, do it all again. Repeat. He adds a shot of whiskey in there at one point, to spice things up. No sign of his sister.  
“Dean,” Sam breaks the silence with a noise that’s barely a breath. “It’s been almost 12 hours, maybe we should go to the police.” Dean almost laughs.  
“No. They can’t do this.” Sam frowns.  
“What do you mean this is their goddamn job-”  
“AND THEY DIDN’T FIND ANYTHING ELSE EITHER DID THEY?” The room feels like it’s underwater, with just a scared and desperate Dean and a confused and terrified Sam staring at each other through the depths of the murky water.  
“If anyone’s gonna find her, it’s us.”  
*********  
2 Years Ago  
Jane had to dislocate her thumbs to get out of the cables binding her wrists to the table. She picked the locks to her foot shackles with a bobby pin. She could barely untie the knot around her neck.  
Now that she’s running through the snow-covered woods, she doesn’t remember any of it.  
That’s how the drugs seem to work. Sometimes her mind is sharp as normal, only clouded by fear and the agonizing pain in her side, than sometimes everything is foggy and she can’t see three inches ahead of her.  
Currently it’s somewhere in between. She can feel the snow beneath her bare feet, but she can barely sense the cold. It’s just there. Her side hurts, but barely, and she’s thankful for that. She know it’s bleeding too much for it to be okay, for any of this to be okay, and she knows it’s probably only adrenaline that’s keeping her from collapsing, but she’s okay with that. Just keep running, get away from him.  
It’s amazing that it took the guy that long to get two cuts in now that she thinks about it. Then again, he seemed to like her screaming, and taking and hour to get the knife to move one inch certainly got her screaming.  
There’s something on her cheek. It’s warm, so she doesn’t wipe it away.  
She wants her brother. She wants Dean really really badly, and she wants Sam to come back, and she (as much as she would never admit it) wants her Dad. She wants safety.  
Jane just wants her family.  
As if lightning struck her, the pain in her side is back. The gashes hurt just as much as they did when the knife was dug into them, and she can barely see straight. She can feel the snow again, and she can hear her hitched sobs. But as if some angel was watching over her, it’s at that moment she stumbles out onto a road, and sees a single sign pointing her in the direction of a place she knows. A place she knows is safe.  
Her legs collapse in the ditch, and her hand goes to clutch at her side, Dean’s voice chanting ‘keep pressure’ over and over in her head. She’s seeing spots. Blood loss, that’s probably it. Now that she looks at her hand there’s too much to be okay. ‘God baby’ says in-her-mind-Dean, and even though she knows he’s not here, she feels comforted by his voice. Still really fucking scared though.  
And god, it hurts.  
So she slips her phone out of her pocket and with one, shaky, bloody hand, she clicks on the only contact in her phone with a one letter label-D. If anyone can find her, it’s him.  
********  
Sam’s an angel, a literal angel, but now all Dean wants to do is punch him. He went to the fucking police and took away his fucking beer and all he wants is his sister. But she’s gone. She’s fucking gone.  
Dean feels like he’s drowning, like the world is water. He knows he’s being a dick to Sam, he knows he’s done nothing wrong. But god, it feels like he did. It feels like he’s in this bubble, and only people who know are inside (so it’s just him, him and him alone) but Sam is on the other side saying ‘come on out Dean’ and he wants to but he can’t he can’t because he’s trapped inside this fucking bubble.  
God, everything’s going wrong.  
Sam comes back an hour (8 hours now. 8 hours she’s been with him) with some fast food, a peace offering of some kind. Dean eats it, and mutters a thank you, because he is thankful to have Sam here helping him, truly.  
He just would also like his sister here, and in some goddamn way that’s got to be Sam’s fault. Cause who else could it be?  
His. It’s his fault.  
Sam eats his burger while staring at Dean, his look somewhere between pity and fear. Dean can tell he’s nervous too, that he wants to smash something or punch someone, but he doesn’t know who. He doesn’t know the full story, he doesn’t know he doesn’t know-  
“You don’t know what happened.” His words take even take himself by surprise. He didn’t mean to speak them out loud, but it feels right now that he has. “You don’t know.”  
Sam nods and takes a sip of his drink. Now that Dean looks at him closer he can see how not okay he is, and how he must be feeling the same way he is. God, he’s the big brother, he’s supposed to be there for him. How many times can he fail in one day?  
“You’re right, I don’t. Do you want to tell me?” Dean barely flinches at the words. It’s not his story to tell, it’s Jane’s. But Jay’s not here, is she?  
“Yeah, I think I do.” He takes another deep breath, trying to prepare himself to relive some of the most traumatic moments of his life. “Do you think it will help if I do?”  
Sam pauses for a moment, wipes something away from his eye, and thinks. Dean can see the gears turning, and he can see when he lands on ‘no, nothing can really help.’ But then Sam surprises him. “Yeah, I think it will.”  
*********  
2 Years Ago  
Dean picks up the phone faster than he ever has in his entire life. He clutches on to it so tight it might snap and holds it so close to his ear that he can feel the small amount of heat radiating off the phone. It’s not a phone to him, it’s Jane.  
The first sound he hears makes him want to scream and cry and laugh with relief at the same time.  
“De?” It’s his little sister. It’s Jane. It’s Jane using his nickname that she loves so much, the one that makes his eyes crinkle with little smiles because that’s what she called him when she was a baby, and it’s what Sammy called him too, and that name means love.  
“Jane,” he gasps, the words flowing out of him like liquid relief. “You’re-oh my god.” He stands up and grasps onto the desk he’s sitting at like it’s a lifeline, furiously pushing back the relieved sobs that are welling in his throat. “God, are you okay?”  
“Hurt…” His blood runs cold. Her voice is choked and so scared it makes him want to kill someone, kill the person that made her like that.  
“You’re hurt?” He tries, attempting to keep the tears that are inevitably falling across his face. “Jane, are you hurt?”  
“De, it hurts…” she tries again, whimpering like a wounded animal, like a scared kid, and Dean’s legs almost give out at those three words because it must be really damn bad if she’s that scared and incoherent.  
“Okay,” he forces out, sprinting across the motel parking lot and into the car. It doesn’t feel right without Jane in the passenger seat, head in his lap cushioned by her red sweatshirt. “Okay, where are you?”  
She doesn’t answer, just makes this crying noise that Dean thinks will haunt him for the rest of his life.  
“Jane, baby-“ the name feels right. That’s his baby. “Where are you?”  
“Sam.” That’s all she can answer. For a second Dean wracks his brain, trying to find a place within an hour of him that has the name Sam in the title, because it can’t be that Sam, no way he’s tied up in this somehow.  
For a second Dean thinks that maybe she’s hallucinating, and he nearly swerves the car with the thought.  
“Sam? Babe, you got to tell me where-“  
“Sam.” She insists again, her hitched breaths and choked sobs a little smaller now that she has something to argue about. “By Sam.” And finally it clicks.  
“Stanford? Jay are you at Stanford?”  
“Stanford, 10 miles,” she says, words slurring a bit. Dean thinks she’s reading a sign by the words she’s saying, her mind too confused and terrified-god she must be terrified, and he’s not there to help her-to come up with the words herself.  
“Okay,” he sighs, making a right and whispering a silent thank you to the angel above helping him. “Okay, is Sam with you?” God, he hopes he is. He can fix this, and Dean’s too far out. Maybe he found her and she’s okay, in the hospital or something, because at this rate it’ll be an hour and Jane’s breaths are too slow to be from someone who has an hour left. But his girl is a fighter, Dean knows that much.  
“No,” Jane answers, and Dean’s world comes tumbling down again. Her next words sound like she’s talking to herself, but also like she’s begging. Like she’s crying and begging for it all to stop. “Hurts…scared…”  
Dean didn’t know words could physically cause you pain.  
“Okay, okay, it’s all gonna be okay.” Is it? He’s too far out he’s too far out he’stoofarout- “Where are you hurt, how bad is it?” Double question, she won’t be able to answer that.  
Dean thinks he hears a sound like snow scrunching, and then there’s this liquidy noise that Dean thinks might be mud but after a sickening second he realizes it’s probably her blood. She’s hurt so bad he can hear it, and the car actually swerves as Dean loses control of his breathing for a second. “Blood…”  
“Okay, how much blood?” For a second there’s stillness, and he thinks that maybe he lost her. The thought is so unnerving that Dean can’t help but sob audibly. “Jay, how much blood?”  
“Lots.” And she sounds so scared. She’s so fucking scared.  
“Okay, keep pressure.” He can hear her wince at that, a big shudder that can only mean she’s doing it, listening to him even while dying-Jane is fucking dying, his little sister is dying. “Where is it?”  
“Side.” It’s barely a whisper. But Dean can work with side. Better that then neck, or stomach or chest. Side is fixable.  
“Okay baby,” she’s his baby. “I’m on my way now, going as fast as I can.” She puffs a sigh in response. “But you gotta stay with me, okay?”  
She pauses for a second, makes the sniff noise that Dean knows is her trying to be brave. “Okay.” And for just a second, she sounds like the normal Jane.  
“Okay babygirl, just stay with me. I’ve got to make a call, gonna send someone to help you, so you just hold on.” He can taste the regret there, but he has to. “Hold on okay?”  
“Okay…” Deep breath. “Are you gonna come? Wan’ you…”  
“Yeah, I’m coming.” OAKLAND, 40 MILES. “Stay with me until then.” 

“I love you.”

And Dean knows he’s just saying it because he’s not sure she’ll make it, because he wants her to know, and actually getting the words out of his mouth may be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he does. And she hears them before he hangs up the call, she heard him and she knows and that’s what’s important.  
Then Dean hangs up the call and calls his brother.  
*********  
Sam just sits for a second after Dean finishes the story. Sits and breathes, and stares at his lap.  
“You called me,” he says finally, but it isn’t a question. It’s a statement. “You called me to go get her, and I didn’t pick up.” He blinks. “She could’ve died, and I…”  
“You didn’t pick up.” Dean feels bad for even bringing it up, he feels bad for even telling the story and putting that on his little brother. But now that it’s been said, he does feel better. More focused, more awake. Maybe Sam’s therapy shit finally worked on him.  
But then there’s the issue of Sam looking like he wants to kill himself.  
“But it’s okay, she was fine.”  
“How long was she out there in the snow bleeding out while I could’ve helped her?”  
Silence.  
“How long Dean?”  
“An hour and a half.”  
Sam places his head in his hands and makes a sniffing noise that sounds too damn much like Jane. “Was she okay?”  
Dean hesitates. No, no she wasn’t. She was traumatized and hurt and couldn’t go anywhere without having Dean by her side for at least a week. “Yeah, she was. She has a scar but-“  
“A scar?” Sam almost laughs this time, obviously hating himself. “She has the sigil on her?”  
“No,” Dean corrects, quick to stomp on that fact. “She got away. Apparently he’s uh…slow with it.” He winces at the words. Slow with torturing his victims. Jane is a victim. God, that doesn’t sound right. “She has two cuts on her side, like an x. Doesn’t even look like a sigil at all.”  
“What about now?”  
Dean’s heart turns to ice.  
“What do you mean?” When Sam looks up he’s crying.  
“Now. He has her again. When we get her back,” when, not if, that’s the only thing keeping Dean from screaming. “What’s it gonna look like then.” He makes that same choking sobbing noise Jane did and Dean almost has a flashback. “It’s got to be more than an X now.”  
Dean’s drowning again, suddenly, and the air is water. Fuck. But then he sees Sam, and his wide eyes and tense posture, and everything he’s feeling goes out the window.  
He doesn’t matter, these two matter. His Jane and his Sammy, they matter. So he will make Sam feel okay about this whole fucked up situation, and then he will find Jane and help her get through all of the things she’s feeling, and it will be okay.  
It will be okay because it has to be.  
“Hey, Sam.” He looks up, and damnit there’s so much trust in those eyes. “We’re going to fix this. And this is not. Your. Fault.” He holds eye contact for a moment, watching as Sam’s eyes search his face for a lie.  
There isn’t one.  
“Okay.”  
As if God himself willed it, the police scanner they have going in the corner speaks up, warbling an address that Dean is careful to memorize. “…there’s a girl calling for help, we think it might be the missing girl reported from earlier tonight.”  
*********  
It’s a fucking warehouse, with rusted doors and sheet metal roofing, and the second they pull into the parking lot Sam glances at Dean and they both know that she’s here.  
It takes a few more minutes for them to hear her, because they grab weapons and walk around the place to make sure no one’s guarding it. But the second they open the back door, they can her Jane.  
And god, does she sound scared.  
Jane’s not a weak person. She’s stared down more monsters than Dean can even name, she’s killed just as many, and you put a gun or a knife in her hand and she’s a force to be reckoned with. She doesn’t mind snakes or bugs, she’s fine with loud noises and planes, clowns and scary movies, all of it. Hell, she doesn’t even seem to be scared of their Dad, which Dean certainly was at her age.  
She’s one of the strongest damn people Dean’s ever met.  
But even strong people get scared sometimes.  
She’s calling for help, but the words are barely decipherable-there must be a gag in her mouth, which makes Dean see red. And then there’s those noises, the ones that literally haunt Dean’s mind, playing over top of it, and the whole thing just feels like a nightmare.  
The building is built like a maze, spiraling twisting turning halls that he can only assume lead to the middle-which is where Jane seems to be. Finally-finally, they turn a corner into the middle room, and there she is.  
For a second Dean wonders if he’s stepped into her nightmare.  
But then he forces his legs to move, and she sees him, and she just fucking melts. All the tense muscles that were straining against her bonds just go lax, and her head falls back against the table, and she says something through the gag that Dean thinks might be ‘thank you’.  
Sam actually gets to the table before he does, and the first thing he does is get the gag off of her, which may not be the most logical choice, but hearing her say his and Sam’s name is worth it. He moves on to her neck, untying the rope as fast as he can and Dean barely glances at the rope burn (again) there before he goes to her wrists and cuts away the cable with his pocketknife.  
Finally he gets them free, and she instantly grabs at her side.  
Fuck, her side.  
There’s so much blood, and Dean can’t quite see what it looks like ‘cause her shirt is covering it but he can tell that it’s bad. Now that he looks closely he can see that her eyes are glazed over and her skin is dangerously pale. God fucking damnit this is bad.  
“Hey Jane?” He tries, but all she can manage is to roll her head towards him. Sam gives him a quick glance, whispers a ‘keep her awake’ and grabs his lock pick to work on the handcuffs digging into her ankles. “Jane, you gotta listen to me.”  
Her eyes open a little bit and Dean thinks she tries to nod. “You can’t sleep right now, you’ve gotta stay awake.” He cups her face with his hand and she closes her eyes at the gentle touch-which is definitely not the desired effect. “Eyes open baby, eyes on me.”  
There it is. Even though she’s crying and she’s in pain and she’s scared and she’s just been through hell, that’s all it takes.  
“Where ‘s he?” she mumbles, glancing around her with almost no energy. “ ‘s he gone?”  
“No,” Sam says, sliding his hand under her shoulders and helping her sit up straight. “We don’t know where he is…”  
“He’s not finished…” she mutters again, her words being muted as she leans into Sam. He accepts it, wrapping his arms around her and burying his head in her hair. And for a second, they just stay like that. Finally they separate, the fear of the nearby serial killer snapping Sam out of it. Jane just continues repeating the phrase ‘he’s not finished’ while she lets Dean pick her up.  
“Sammy?” He asks, shifting the small-too small-girl in his arms. “I’m gonna get her to the car, cover me?” He nods and cocks his gun in response, and they begin their journey home.  
“He’s not finished!” Jane insists again, tugging on Dean’s collar like she’s trying to warn him of something.  
“I know Jane,” is all he can give as he rounds another corner, one step at a time. “I know.” He glances down for one second, meeting her eyes and trying to literally beam trust into her soul. “I’ve got you.”  
Her blue eyes stare straight at him, and at that one moment the only emotion Dean feels is love. Pure, unadulterated love.  
And when she speaks again, it’s not a question. It’s a statement. “You’ve got me.”  
Then the wall explodes, and Dean barely has time to shove something into Jane’s pocket before the world goes dark.  
*********  
When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is the eyes of the man who did all this fucked up shit to Jane.  
The first thing he feels is fiery rage.  
The second thing he sees is Jane and Sam. Sam is tied up next to him, just like Jane was, and just how he must be, and Jane’s just sitting there. No restraints, no nothing.  
The second thing he feels is ice cold fear.  
Her eyes are open, which is a good sign, but she has virtually no expression on her face, and the only thing even indicating she’s alive is the tiny rise and fall of her chest and the tears falling down her face. She’s not even fighting, and that scares Dean more than almost anything else ever has.  
“Sam?” He tries first, tugging experimentally at the ties around him. Nothing. “Sammy?” No response. He’s out cold. Shit.  
“Jane?” This gets a response, but not from her. She just keeps staring at him, blank eyes unmoving.  
“She’s not doing so good, kid,” the nearby psychopath croons, reminding Dean that he’s still in the room. “I’d give her a few minutes before she bleeds out. You should really try to get that Sammy up so he can say his goodbyes.”  
Dean can barely form words, focused only on the pure raw hatred in his gut.  
How dare he.  
“She was fun while she lasted, though. More than most of the others. Didn’t pass out as much.” He winks at Dean like It’s all some sort of joke. “High pain tolerance.”  
“I’m gonna kill you.” Jane reacts to this slightly, tilting her head towards him slightly and wincing as the motion jostles her side. Suddenly she coughs, her whole body spasming as her lungs are rocked around in her chest and finally she spits. Blood.  
“Oops, here we go.” He strolls over to Sam and shakes him slightly, causing him to blink lazily. Dean doesn’t even have the capacity to be angry that he touched his little brother, he just stares at Jay. Because this might be it, and he wants to take her in as much as possible.  
“Say your goodbyes boys.”  
Dean glances at Sam. He’s more awake now, and he’s just staring at her too. How do you even say goodbye?  
“No,” he finally answers. “No, she’s gonna be okay.” Sam looks back at him, and he can tell that he’s thinking ‘no she’s not’ but he doesn’t give a damn.  
Eye contact, green meets blue. Talk with your eyes, not your mouth.  
‘C’mon Jay’  
“You hear that Jay? You’re gonna be just fine.”  
And she reacts.  
She takes the gun that Dean had dropped in her pocket when the explosion happened, and she fires.

It hits the killer right between his eyes.

“That’s ma girl.”

The next few minutes happen too fast for Dean to remember most of them. Sam gets out of his bonds first, and only tosses Dean a knife before dashing over to Jane, who’s almost completely still now.

“C’mon Jay, stay with me.”

When he gets out, he nearly trips over the body. He doesn’t give it a second glance, staring right at his little sister the whole time.

“Jane, baby, you did so good.”

Sam carries her to the car, Sam holds her during the drive, Sam presses on her side even when she screams at the touch, Sam kisses her forehead, Sam cries with her. Dean just has trouble keeping his eyes on the road.

“Okay, we’re gonna get you fixed up now, gonna get you good as new.”

Sam tells her stories while Dean stitches up her side. It’s not quite as bad as he thought it was-the sigil isn’t quite finished. Too finished for her to be okay with it though.

“Thank you.”

Those are the first coherent words she speaks after Dean finishes bandaging the cuts. Thank you. That’s it.  
Then she promptly passes out, still holding onto Sam’s hand. Dean lies down next to her, deciding to ignore the fact that he’s laying in a bed with Sam, and grabs her other hand. “I’ve got you.”  
*********  
She has the nightmare more consistently now, only now Sam can help too. He knows what to say, how to act, where to avoid touching (neck, side) and finally-finally-they can tell her ‘he’s gone.’  
A few weeks later, Jane gets her first tattoo. It’s a pretty swirl design, right on her side.


	9. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings-sadness, and angst, swearing, the use of babygirl as a brother/sister nickname (shut up it can be used that way), fluff, death, the destruction of backsplash, knives
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

When Jane has nightmares, she’ll get help. She’ll crawl into bed with Sam or Dean and they’ll rub her back or brush their fingers through her hair and calm her down, telling stories of when she was a kid or singing some lullaby she doesn’t remember. Sometimes they’ll just whisper that she’s okay over and over until she calms down.   
When Dean has nightmares he holds onto his pillow. He’ll squeeze it so hard it might burst and bury his head in the puffy white cushion so the other two can’t see his tears. If it’s really really bad, he’ll grab on to Jay, as if for a reminder that she’s here. She knows that sometimes he wants to do the same to Sammy too, but he would never. So he grabs Jane and pulls her into his chest until all she knows is his t-shirt.  
When Sam has nightmares, they don’t talk about it. You’d think him being the emotive, sensitive sibling, he’d sit up and have a light night conversation about it over tea. Maybe they’d analyze it and find the hidden meaning. Or maybe he’d crawl into bed with Dean or Jane and give into his childish fears.   
He doesn’t do any of that. He sits up, and watches TV until morning.  
*********  
“All right,” Dean begins, his fingers flying across the laptop keyboard, clicking open multiple tabs and articles he had been scanning. “I’ve been cruisin’ some websites. I think I found a few candidates for our next gig. A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali –- its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.”  
Jane leans into read the details of the occurrences, but Sam doesn’t even move. He’s staring at the hotel stationary he has in his lap, sketching something in a black pen. Jane can’t make up what it is from her angle, but it’s winding. Thick lines weaving around the page, crossing and twisting. “Hey, bitch.” She calls over the space between their beds. “We boring you with this paranormal evil stuff?”   
He laughs slightly but pays almost no attention to the conversation. “No, you’re fine.” He claims, waving his hand casually. “Keep going.” Jane points a stare at the side of his head. As if he can feel it, he answers. “Punk.”  
“You’re both idiots,” Dean mutters, turning back to the screen. “And uh, in Sacramento, a man shot himself in the head. Three times.” They both turn again to Sam, raising eyebrows in twin expressions of expectation. “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”  
Finally he looks up, raising his hands in an ‘oh my god’ gesture. Jane smiles, ready for ‘that sounds like a case’ or ‘good work guys’ but instead she gets “Wait. I’ve seen this.”  
Of course, Sam’s talking about his damn drawing.  
“Seen what?” Dean asks, shoving the laptop onto the ground in annoyance. Jane remains, still, always stubborn. Sam doesn’t respond, just opens up Dean’s backpack and starts digging through it. “What are you doing?” Dean demands, standing up and pacing over to where Sam is hurriedly going through his things, obviously panicked at the prospect of his brother seeing all his stuff.  
Sam tosses things to the ground without a care. Needle and thread. Flashlight. Hunting knife. Condom (ew). Dad’s journal. Old photo album.  
Jane goes through that album sometimes. There are lots of baby pictures, of all three of them, but also tons of family pictures, painstakingly labeled with loopy handwriting. It’s not her Dad’s, that much she’s sure of. Then, after a certain point, the pictures get modern. There’s one of the three of them from about 5 years ago, standing arm and arm. One of Sam and Dean laughing so hard they look like they might pass out. One of her at Lake Superior, pointing to the water in excitement. She can’t remember what she was excited about.  
There’s also one from a few weeks ago. A family, standing in front of a house. The family that’s not hers. The one Dean found in their Dad’s abandoned hotel room and labeled ‘home’. That’s the one Sam lands on. He stares at it for a second, glancing back and forth between the photo and his sketch.  
“Guys, I know where we have to go next.”  
Jane pushes down a roll of her eyes and focuses on keeping calm and not screaming at Sam. “Where, pray tell?”  
“Back home,” he states, holding up a photo. God, she hates that photo. It’s everything she doesn’t have, everything she’ll never have again. A father that cares, a mother, a brother that’s just a brother and not some twisted father figure, another brother to mess around with. A life. A home.  
“We need to go back to Kansas.”  
She scoffs, trying to ignore Dean nodding at Sam and beggining to pick up his things. He’s ready to go, not even questioning it. “Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”  
Sam stands up and walks hurriedly over to her, waving the photo like a child holding a toy. He’s not quite happy though, more desperate. Desperate to make her understand. Maybe that’s why Dean agreed so quickly. Maybe he saw that there. Dean had always been better at reading Sam. “This photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?”  
“Yeah…”   
“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Jane glances at Dean. She doesn’t know this part, but he nods slightly at her silent question. The Ol’ Winchester house still stands.  
“I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”   
Sam bent down, moving his massive 6’4” body down to her little 5’4” frame. His eye contact was intense, searching for any hope of belief. He really wanted her to buy this. And for a second, she did. “Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.”  
Yeah, that’s pretty crazy.  
Dean stops his dutiful packing to glance over at his brother, finally noticing the crazy in this situation. “Why would you think that?”  
Sam stops in his tracks, obviously not expecting this roadblock from both of his siblings. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” Jane doesn’t respond, just raises her eyebrows in a silent question and watches as Sam puts the photo book away. Dean isn’t as quiet with his worries.   
“Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”  
He shrugs his shoulders lightly. “Yeah.”  
“Sammy, that’s weak,” she protests, forcing him to turn back around with his shove to the shoulder. “Give us more than that.”  
“I can’t really explain it is all.”  
“Well, tough,” Jane stated, biting the words off with her teeth. She planted her but on the scratchy red blanket on the bed and crossed her arms begrudingly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.” Sam runs his hand through his morning bed-head and sighs loudly. Dean strolls over and sits next to Jane, mimicking her position perfectly. Apparently, the sight of his two siblings sitting and staring finally convinced him to talk.  
“I have these nightmares.”  
“Yeah, welcome to the club.”  
“And sometimes….they come true.”  
Silence.   
Dean leaned forward on the bed, his shoulder rubbing against Jane’s.   
She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or slap him. Because he wasn’t lying.  
This wasn’t made up, this wasn’t something he was joking about, no one time deal he’s making up on the spot, he believes this. This is what he truly thinks. So either Sam’s crazy or he’s psychic. Jay doesn’t know which is worse.  
“Come again?” Dean finally spoke, breaking the thick tension filling the air. Sam’s shoulders slackened in something like disappointment. Like he expected them to just...buy it. No fucking way.  
“Look, guys I…” Hand goes through his hair again, “I dreamt about Jessica’s death for days before it happened.” His voice still shakes on her name. Sometimes Jane wishes she had met her. The way Sam talks about her with that look in his eyes...she must have been something special. Sammy doesn’t fall easy.  
“People have weird dreams,” Jane dismisses, coming back to her senses and refuting the claim quickly. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Now it’s Sam’s turn to sit as Jane and Dean stand up, pacing the room. All of Sam’s nerves seem to have transferred over to the two of them.   
“No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it.” Sam’s hands are clenched in the fabric of the bed so tight his knuckles are turning white. He looks like he wants to cry. “And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”  
This is too much.  
This is too fucking much for Jane’s head to process.  
“I don’t know…” Dean mutters, barely enough to be audible. His hands are almost twitching, dancing around from his head to his jacket to his pendant, back and forth and back again.  
“What do you mean you don’t know, Dean?” Sam finally snaps, rising to his full height. “This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica!”  
“Oh, how do you know that?”   
“I don’t know maybe because they’re in the same house as-”  
“GUYS!” The room stills again, and the dust settles. “SHUT UP...and slow down.”  
Both Sam and Dean stare at her with wide eyes, their argument dissolving. When Jane gets pissed, you shut up. “Just fucking slow down.” She stands up, rising to her full five foot 4 inches of height, yet still commanding more power in the room than the two brothers. “Sammy. You have...dreams. That come true…”  
“Yeah.”  
Dean runs his hand down his face. “So you have the shining-” Jane shoots him a look. “And I have to go back home.”  
In that moment, all Dean looks is tired. This is a new expression for Jane, and it puts a pit in her stomach. Dean doesn’t get tired, doesn’t give up. He doesn’t get scared.  
“What’s wrong with going home?”  
Both brothers flinch in unison. Sam chooses to ignore the question, turning and beginning to pack his bag.  
“Jay, I swore to myself that I would never go back there.”  
*********  
“You gonna be alright, man?”  
Dean sighs and glances out the window of the Impala, glaring at the house like it’s the source of all of his problems. It kinda is. Finally he lands on an answer, not even bothering to look back at her as he muttered “let me get back to you on that.”  
They get out of the car, slowly walking towards the old house. Although Jane doesn’t remember anything about the house, it seems familiar. It’s like something itches on the back of her head. She knows this place. She knows this place means trouble, means something bad. She can almost hear it whispering. Something’s coming.  
Sam knocks twice on the door, and it swings open to reveal a woman with hair dyed-blonde, and some kind eyes. Her brother jolts, taking a full step backward into Dean.   
“Yes?” She asks.   
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” Dean begins, slapping on that fake smile and beginning his usual spiel. Jane puts on her matching ‘i’m older than I look’ face and prepares to answer any questions. “We’re with the Federal—”  
“I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean and my sister Jane. We used to live here.” Jane has to physically restrain herself from punching him in the face. “You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”  
He makes it sound like this is what they wanted to do. FuN wEeKEnD plaNS.  
“Winchester…” Jenny says, running it over in her head a few times. “Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night. Cute baby, a few little boys.”  
“You did?” She asks, stepping forward. I’m cute baby it’s me.  
The woman nods and opens the door wider, gesturing that they should come in the house and introducing herself as Jenny. Dean takes a deep breath before he steps over the threshold. The three of them are led into a small kitchen, perfect for a family. Currently, a young girl that looks like the woman is sitting at the table and coloring a flower.   
In the corner of the room, a little boy in a playpen jumps up and down, up and down, chanting “juice juice juice” over and over. Sam cracks a smile at that and Dean nudges her slightly.  
“You were like that,” he whispers, clapping his hand on her shoulder and leaving it there. Jane’s glad he’s smiling, but not glad he’s exposing her to a room of random strangers. “So much energy, you bounced off the walls of whatever hotel room we were in.”  
Hotel room. Never a home.  
“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie,” Jenny explains, opening the fridge and handing him the small orange cup she takes from it. “But hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” She paces over to the older girl and introduces them to her. “Sari,” Sari, pretty name. “This is Sam, Dean, and Jane. They used to live here.”  
“Hi,” she says offering a timid wave. Sam bends down to the same level as she is.  
“You were like that.” Jane rolls her eyes.  
“Like what.”  
“Shy. You didn’t want to talk to anyone besides me or Dean. Sometimes Dad.”  
Sari’s talking to her Mom now, looking at her with wide eyes as she tries to comprehend the difficult subject that is someone else living in their trusty house. Talking with her mom.  
“So, you just moved in?” She asks Jenny, trying to push away the constant reminders of things she’ll never have. Family, home. It’s like this whole thing is just trying to rub it all in her face. That combined with Sam’s new ‘psychic powers’ is almost too much for her to handle.  
Almost.  
“Yeah, from Wichita.”  
“Do you have family here, or ...?”   
“No.” She answers, rubbing the back of her neck. Jane knows that gesture-that’s the I-don’t-wanna-say-this gesture. Sam does that one a lot. “I just uh...needed a fresh start, that’s all.” She glances at her brothers apologetically. “So new town, new job-as soon as I find one. New house.”  
Sam nods and fakes a smile, glancing around at the grungy green paint. Dean’s hand on her shoulder is becoming vice like with his mounting anxiety. She wants to yell and scream that it’s just a house, but it doesn’t feel right to her either. Bad energy or something.  
“So, how you likin’ it so far?” Sam asks, gesturing around to the stained tile and grungy backsplash.  
“Well, all due respect to your childhood home-I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here.” Dean tries to smile at that one. The only important memory he has here is of screaming kids and fire and losing everything. “This place has issues.”  
No shit.  
With those words, Dean instantly snaps into investigation mode, as if this is just any other case. “What do you mean?” He asks, posture instantly improving into something more professional. More confident. Here’s a case-he can push through years of trauma to solve a case. He even lets go of Jane’s shoulder, and she rolls the now cramped muscles in appreciation.   
She shrugs. “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.” Yep. Case.  
“That sucks,” Jane comments with as much fake sympathy as she can pile on. “Anything else?”  
“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She runs a hand across her brow in exasperation. As if struck by a sudden realization, she shoots them an apologetic look and pushes off from her place she was leaning against the counter. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to complain.”  
“No no no no,” Dean defends, holding out his hands in a universal sign of surrender. “It’s all good. Most of it’s different anyway.”  
“Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?” Sam asks, glancing around like the rats might actually reveal themselves.  
“It’s just the scratching, actually.”  
“Mom?” Sari asks, tugging on her mom’s shirt gently. It’s cute. She tries to ignore the look that Dean gives her. Goddamnit, was she really that freakin’ cute? “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”  
“What, Sari?” Sam asks, kneeling down to reach her height.  
“The thing in my closet.” She answers, almost nonchalantly. Jane’s shoulders tense. Bad energy, here we come.  
“Oh, no baby, there was nothing in their closets.” She turns to the three of them for some reassurance. Jane feels like she might throw up. “Right?”  
No. God, no, there was something in their closets and it fucking ruined their lives. It tore any semblance of normal from them and stomped on it until it was dust and now Jane wakes up with nightmares of fire and yellow eyes and now Sam has psychic visions and Dean’s more of a father than anyone else in this world and she’s never met her mother and it’s too much.  
“Of course not.” Clipped words. Fake smile. Don’t let your hands shake.  
The woman shoots her an appreciative glance and offers them an explanation with wide eyes. “She had a nightmare the other night.”  
“I wasn’t dreaming,” Sari insists. “It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.” Jane’s blood runs cold as ice.  
Her hands shake now.  
*********  
“You heard that, right?” Sam asks once they exit the house, his eyes alight with some combination of excitement and fear. “A figure on fire.”  
Jane rubs her head. “Was that the woman from your dream?”And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?  
“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights-both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Jane slides into the car as Dean starts the engine, pulling down the street and towards the gas station down the street.  
“Yeah, well I’m just freaked out that your weird visions are coming true,” Dean admits, keeping his eyes on the road in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Sam obviously picks up on his panic and jumps right into the ‘wait-i can-explain’ mode.  
“Well forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?” The car almost stops, and Jane can’t blame him. As convenient as that would be, she doesn’t want that. She can’t face this thing, she can’t do this. They aren’t strong enough.  
She’s not strong enough.   
“I don’t know!” Dean nearly yells, pulling the car with new energy into the gas station. They sit in park for a second letting the tension hang in the air, thick as water. Jane has the overwhelming urge to open the window, let some air in, but she doesn’t act on it, deciding to speak quietly again.  
“Do you think it’s come back, or has it been there the whole time?”  
“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, baby, we just don’t know yet.” Baby. That nickname means he’s really stressed out.  
“Well, either way, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house,” Sam interrupts, not having the experience with big-brother-nicknames to read into each and every one of them with the same presicion as she has. Sam may be the psychic, but she’s the mind reader here.  
“We will,” she reassures, speaking before Dean can throw out some pessimistic remark and sticking her hand on his shoulder comfortingly.   
“No, I mean now,” he insists, turning back to her, obviously abandoning his efforts to convince Dean and focusing on her.  
“And how you gonna do that, huh?” Dean interrupts, his stress finally coming out in one big lash of anger. Both Sam and Jane flinch away from him, startled by the outburst. “You got a story that she’s gonna believe?” As quick as it came, the anger is gone and resembling something defeat.  
Dean’s fucking falling apart at the seams, all because of one house.  
“What are we supposed to do, De?” She tries gently. After another second of that sickening stillness, Dean opens the old creaky door and wanders over to the gas pump, plugging into baby’s old tank. The other two follow him out of the car and lean against it, pretending anything is more interesting than looking him in the eye.  
It smells like ciggarette smoke here.   
“We just gotta chill out, that’s all,” he finally breaks, his voice shaking, but showing absolutely no sign of anger now. Turned around, just like that. “You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”  
“We’d try to figure out what we were dealin’ with.”  
“We’d dig into the history of the house.”  
“Exactly, except this time, we already know what happened.” Jane takes a deep breath and gets ready to ask the question she’s been waiting for this whole time, the one that makes her breath tick in her chest a bit.  
“But how much do we know?” Silence. “How much do you two remember?”  
Sam speaks first, running his hand through his hair and taking a deep breath. “Not a lot. I mean, I was only 7. There was fire, screaming, smoke. Crying.” Another deep breath. Jane tries to make eye contact. Dean stares at the pavement. “Someone was holding me.”  
They both turn to Dean then. He doesn’t pick up on the cue to speak, just continues staring at the chipped gas stained cement and watching the numbers on the gas pump go up up up. He knows something. He knows a lot of somethings.   
Jane knows because he wakes up screaming from it once a month.  
“Dean?”  
“Yeah, babe?” Babe=I’m keeping it calm for you.  
“What do you remember?”  
Deep breath, even deeper than Sam’s. “Not much.. I think I must have blocked it out or something. Put up some wall in my brain.”  
“I remember the smoke too, the fire, the heat. And then I carried Jay out the door.”  
“You did?”  
“Yeah. What you never knew that?” He sounds genuinely surprised, but how would she know that? She can’t remember that night, and there seems to be some unspoken rule about not talking about it, so it’s never come up until now.   
She shakes her head slowly, filing that fact away as reason #1928462984 to thank Dean for your existence. “No, I didn’t. What about Sam?”  
Dean laughs faintly for a second, and Sam laughs in response. “He uh...he jumped on my back.” His smile grows even wider. “I obviously couldn’t tell him to let go so I just ran. Baby in my arms, little kid on my back. If that ain’t the story of my life…” They all laugh at that one.   
But the oldest boy’s smile is gone as fast as it arrives. “I didn’t let go of either of you all night. Jay, you fell asleep on my chest, and Sam stayed right next to me.” Another forced laugh. “God, we must have spent every night like that for a month.”  
I didn’t let go of you all night.  
The trance seems to be broken then, the chick-flick over as Dean wipes at his eyes so quickly Jay barely catches it, Sam flipping into his investigating mode at the same exact time. “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”  
“And he never had a theory about what did it?”  
Scoff. Forced laugh. “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” That they did.  
“Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…” Sam ponders, leaning his back against the car once again and running his hand through his hair.   
“We have to figure out what happened back then.” She finishes.  
Yeah. Piece of cake right? Dad’s only been looking for 15 years and found approximately nothing, but sure, the three of us can do it in a few days, right?  
“Okay, so we talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time,” she lists, coming up with as many things as she can remember from previous cases. “Y’know it’s just a...normal case.”  
All three of them nod in unison, muttering little yeahs, and of courses, scratching their heads and shuffling their feet. Sam clears his throat and looks at the sky. “Does this feel like just another job to you?”   
No. No it doesn’t. God, this feels weird and different and wrong somehow and she’s so scared, scared in a way she hasn’t been for years, because this monster is different and it has hurt people she cares about, and she wants to hide in Dean’s shirt and scream but she can’t cause she’s strong and brave and-  
“I’m sorry.” Her and Dean speak at the same time.   
“I’ll be right-”  
“I’m gonna-  
“I just gotta go to the bathroom.”  
“I’m gonna buy some snacks.”  
They walk in opposite directions, Dean around the left side of the gas station and Jane to the right. Sam stands there in the center like some lost dog or a child who’s parents got a divorce. Except...less incestous.  
“This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179, or my daughter: 785-748-0097. They can help.”

“Dad? I know I’ve left you messages before. I don’t even know if you’ll get ‘em. But I’m with Sam. And Jay of course, we’re all together. And we’re in Lawrence. And there’s somethin’ in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed Mom or not, but…but I...I don’t know what to do. So, whatever you’re doin’, if you could get here. Please.” 

“Hey Joh...Dad. It’s, uh, Jay. Jane, it’s uh Jane your...daughter. I’m here in Lawrence with Dean and Sam, we got Sam to help us believe it or not, and we’re working this case in our old house and I’m...I’m scared Dad. This all feels so real and I’m scared the...thing is gonna come back and hurt Sam or Dean or me and I just...I don’t know. God, I feel like a little kid again. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, you’ll probably just bench me from the next hunt anyway. Anyway if you could uh call me back or better yet get down here that would be...great.”  
“I need your help, Dad.”  
“I need your help, Dad.”  
*********  
“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Saying her father’s name with that practiced formality that comes with interviewing a civilian feels weird and forced. It’s not a Johnny-what’s-his-face she can pretend is just another victim. It’s her Dad, her own DNA.  
“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared.” It’s been fifteen years. She should know, the anniversary is her 2-month birthday. “So why the cops interested all of a sudden?”  
“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em,” Dean covers, using his own practiced tone to make it all sound like no big deal.  
“So anything you remember would be fantastic.” Sam’s voice. Instant trust right there, and no one can resist those puppy-dog eyes he always gives. The one thing Jane inherited from him that she’s glad about.  
“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that,” the garage owner says with a small laugh, running his hand over his stubble. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know?” Jane has to stop herself from answering with a ‘trust me, i know’. “But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.”  
Doted? For a minute Jane wonders if this is even the same John she knows, but one glance at the way Sam smiles almost fondly and she knows it’s true. Dad of the year award goes to John-fucking-Winchester apparently.  
“But that was before the fire?” She asks, pointing at him with her pen.  
“That’s right.”  
“Did he ever talk about that night?” Sam waits with expectant eyes for the answer, but the worker stops for a moment, as if he can’t remember.   
“...No, not at first,” he tries eventually, placing the words carefully. “I think...he was in shock.”  
Great. Another person who thinks that he was crazy.  
Dean clears his throat, as if to cough out the defensivness lying there and takes over the conversation with his sure voice and stance. “Of course. But eventually? What did he say about it?”  
“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”  
“He ever say what did it?” All of them mentally cross their fingers.  
“Nothin’ did it,” the owner dismisses with a wave of his hand and an inquizitive look. Everytime she gets one of those she thinks she looses a few brain cells. “It was an accident–an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He trails off and runs a hand down her face. Something in Jane’s stomach twists, for what reason she doesn’t know. “He just got worse and worse.”  
“How so?” She forces out, trying to cover the restless itch to defend her deadbeat Dad with her usual calm tone.  
Another dismissive hand wave. “Oh, he started readin’ these strange ol’ books, goin’ to see this palm reader in town, y’know?”  
“Palm reader?” Dean says it, but they all look up at the words in unison. Because that right there, that’s a sure-fire lead. “Do you have a name?”  
Unfortunatley for them, their luck runs out on that question and they leave the old cement building with only half a lead more than they went into it with.  
When they get to the car Jane goes straight for the phone book, scanning for any ‘psychics’ or ‘mindreaders’ in the area. The search goes better than she expected. There’s some dude named El Divino, a whole establishment named the Diamond Ball that claims to be psychic and definitely not a sex shop, and a woman named-  
“Missouri Moseley—”  
“Wait, wait.” Dean cuts her off before she can get to the next name, and man named Frank Deveroux. “Missouri Moseley?”  
“Yes, that is what she said Dean,” Sam replies, continuing the state-wide search he’s conducting on his computer.  
“That’s a psychic?”  
“Yes that is why she read out the name.” He continues with the same deadpan face. Jane has to restrain her laugh.  
“Ha-ha, cool it bitch, Jay, toss me Dad’s journal.” She throws the leatherbound journal into Dean’s lap right as he pulls the car into a parking lot, watching as he turns the faded pages to an old contact list and trying to ignore the way he ignores the family photo in the inside cover.   
“Here, look at this,” he says, holding up the book so they can all see with only some neck-craning. “First page, first sentence.”   
“I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”  
Wow. Where’s his pulitzer.   
“I always thought he meant the state,” she says with a shrug, staring at the loopy handwriting covering the pages. Her eyes can’t help but drift over to the faded photo a few times. Sam was a cute kid. She had lots of hair for a baby.  
Mom was beautiful.   
*********  
Missouri’s home or office or whatever isn’t quite what you’d expect from a psychic. Its neat, with plain old furniture and a few vases of flowers here or there. No crystal balls, no scarves, no twinkling gold jewelry that looks like only old grandmas would wear. Just a house. The only things that set it apart from the average house is the insence being burned in the corner-and even that isn’t that strange-and the pamphlet on the coffee table that reads ‘how to use the stars and a glass of water to find your soulmate’.  
Y’know, normal person stuff.  
“All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” A woman says in a kind voice, ushering a middle-aged man through the waiting room and nearly kicking him out of the door. She has this...air about her. She feels safe. The man nods a small thank you, and as soon as the door closes, all of the kindess falls from her face and she sighs sadly. She feels safe though. Warm. The feelings and instincts Jane’s learned to assosciate with family. She shoots the three of them a glance and smiles a bit. “Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her laugh comes out as more of a snort than anything, and the woman shoots her a wink. Oh yeah, she definitely likes her.  
“Why didn’t you tell him then?” Sam asks, looking almost offended by her lies. As if they affect him at all.  
“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She states matter of factly, standing in the doorway and staring at the three of them on the old green couch. “Well? Sam, Dean, Jane, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She waves her hand and exits the archway, leaving Jay to stand there shocked. She glances at her brothers, who seem as shocked as she is, before following the woman into a smaller room with darker colored walls and a softer looking couch.  
They sit down on it and continue the staring contest with the woman, who has to be Missouri at this point, as if willing her to repeat their names. Jane still trusts her, but that doesn’t make what she did any less creepy.  
Finally Missouri speaks, a smile creeping across her face in that way that can only mean some form of pride. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome. And you Dean, you were a goofy-lookin’ kid. And Jane!” She reaches across the old glass table and squeezes her hand lightly. It’s a gesture that, coming from a stranger, would normally drive her nuts but this Missouri seems good. She seems warm. “You are one beautiful young lady.”   
Jane doesn’t even have time to croak out a thank you (she’s never been called beautiful before) when Missouri’s gaze turns a bit darker and she swaps out her own hand for Sam’s.   
“Sam, oh honey...” Her eyes become soft as silk and she can’t help but wonder how the same woman just winked at her and joked about her brother being a freaky looking baby. “I’m so sorry about your girlfriend.”  
The air hangs still for a moment, as if everything turned to glass for a split second before Missouri changes the subject and Sam gets his tongue to work.   
“Your father, he’s missing?”  
Jane really hopes she can’t actually see inside her head, because the curse words she’s thinking of right now are not what she wants her first impression to be.  
“How’d you know all that?”  
“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She answers in that factual tone, accompanied by a shrug that screams sass. She takes a sip of her tea and leans back into the chair, as if readying herself for criticism, but none comes. They picked out a more important part of her words.  
“Well, where is he?” Dean all but demands, his hands fisting on the couch next to him. Jane can feel a knuckle digging into her leg. “Is he okay?”  
“I don’t know.” The tea must be ginger, or maybe the insence is. Whatever it is, it smells good, and is keeping her strangley distracted from the distressing news she just heard. Dad’s still missing, but hey, at least the room smells nice, y’know?  
“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” Dean pushes even further, the nerves that have been grating against him the past day or so being taken out in anger.   
“Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician?” She asks, her eyesbrows raising as she leans back even further in her chair. “I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air!” Dean rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath, leaning back on the couch.  
“Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!” Missouri bursts out over her mug, making Dean freeze in his spot. Jane has to physically clasp a hand over her mouth to stop the gasp of shock and the giggle (this woman’s making her freakin giggle) that almost comes out. Professionalism be damned, she wants this woman to adopt her.  
“I didn’t do anything!” The culprit protests with hands in the air. Sam’s smiling now too, the little smile he used to give her before they’d attack Dean or something. The little-brother smile. It’s been a while since she’s seen that one. And okay, maybe she lets her laugh out a little bit.  
“But you were thinkin’ about it.”   
Dean huffs one more time and the younger two smile a little bit more before finally getting down to business. “Okay. So, our dad–when did you first meet him?”  
“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” For a brief second she thinks-why didn’t I ever get curtains?  
“What about the fire?” She asks, trying to push away the thoughts of lost childhoods and happy families. “Do you know about what killed our mom?”  
Her eyes squint. “A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”  
“And could you?” Sam’s leaning forward so far that she can see the knobs of his spine through his t-shirt. Missouri’s face falls for a second and she trails one finger around the lip of the mug. Jane thinks it might be spearmint, not ginger.   
Missouri tries to start talking, her gaze jumping from the steaming tea to the popcorn ceiling above them, but she doesn’t get more than a word out. There’s different types of fear, Jane’s learned, and this is the fear she’s learned to assosciate with that house and this monster. The type of fear so deep in your bones, you don’t even want to talk about it. “What was it?” Sam asked quietly, even his voice revealing that maybe he doesn’t really want to know.  
“I don’t know.” Her voice is softer than she’s ever heard it, and it seems almost uncharacteristic from such a bold woman as Missouri. “But it was evil.”  
“So,” she starts back up again, only a ghost of her fear in her voice. “You kids think somethin’ is back in that house?”  
Jane nods quickly, a strand of hair coming out of her ponytail and falling into her face. “Definitely.” She barely registers Dean tucking it behind her ear, just as she barely registers that he’s barely spoken one word this whole time.  
“I don’t understand,” she says, glancing back at her tea. “I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it acting up now?”   
Great question.   
“I don’t know,” Sam blurts out. “But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once.” Jane doesn’t miss how he avoids the topic of his own vision. One would think that this would be a safe place to talk about-y’know, in front of an actual psychic. “It just feels like something’s starting.”  
Dean voices her thought before they even surface in her mind.  
“That’s a comforting thought.”  
*********  
Missouri is the one who requests going back to the house, thinking she could get a better sense of what’s going on if she could physically read the energies there. Although none of them disagree with this (Dean agreeing that energies can be sensed is probably the weirdest thing that’s happened all week) the issue is then brought up of how much more can Jenny take of this before she kicks them out.  
Jane bets about one more visit before she calls the cops. Those aren’t great odds.  
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Jenny’s face quickly shifts to one of annoyance when the three sibling plus Missouri are revealed, standing on her doorstep like idiots. “Sam, Jane and uh….Dean.” Jane barely laughs. Dean barely slaps her arm. “What are you doing here?”  
“Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri,” Sam introduces, plastering on a smile and ignoring the clear looks of ‘go-the-fuck-away’ the mother is shooting them. “If it’s not too much trouble we were hoping to show her the old house.” She just stands there, almost slackjawed at the request. She doesn’t even flinch when Jane turns on her puppy dog eyes.   
“You know, for old time’s sake,” Dean tries. He sounds so douchey she’s not surprised when Jenny rolls her eyes.  
“You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy,” she clips out, biting the words off on her toungue and beginning to turn around. Jane can hear what sounds like a little kid (must be Richie) crying inside and she almost wants to let her go. Alas, ghosts won’t kill themselves.  
Dean buts in yet again, insisting yet again. “Listen, Jenny, it’s important-” But before he can explain the situation with that douchey voice of his, Missouri outright slaps him upside the head. This time she can’t help the laugh from coming out, and apparently neither can Sam because she can hear him snort and see him turn around to hide his smile. Hurting the older brother-always makes the younger two laugh.  
“Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset? Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Jay takes a mental snapshot of Dean’s face to make fun of him for later.   
“About what?”  
“About this house.”  
Her attention turns fully to them, all but ignoring the crying child in the back. Poor Richie. “What are you talking about?”  
“I think you know what I’m talking about.” Missouri presses, raising her eyebrows. Somehow she makes even the most annoying persuasion tactics seem good-natured. “You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?”  
She freezes. “Who are you?”  
“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.”  
Yeah. Just a little. Let us into your house please.  
After a few seconds of Jane silently pleading with the gods and Missouri staring at Jenny in that way that just makes you want to let her into your house and poor her a cup of tea, she finally relents. “Okay. Okay sure. Where do you want to see?”  
Missouri leads them straight into the house like she owns the place, up the stairs that creak a bit with each step, and into a room. Jane guesses it’s Sari’s bedroom, with the pastel pink walls and the blue-flower-patterned comforter.   
“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it,” the older woman states, holding out her hands as if she can touch this so called energy. Jay has trouble believing that a room this innocent and pure can hold such evil, but it does seem kind of fitting. In some ironic way.  
“Why this room?” She asks.  
“This used to be your room, Sam.” She swallows back a joke about Sam being a girl and tries to imagine a tragedy in here. Doesn’t quite work. “This is where it all happened.”  
Jane reaches into her backpack and removes the EMF meter Dean had told her to carry around with her for the day. The home-made scrap of junk that her and Dean had duct-taped and superglued together one night a few years ago looked almost seconds away from falling apart, but the second she flipped the switch on the side it lit up like a christmas tree, still perfectly functional.   
“Is that an EMF?” Misourri asks, crushing that little spark of pride in her chest.   
Her and Dean answer in unison. “Yeah.”  
“Amatuers.” While Jane hesitantly puts the old machine away, Missouri continues reading the energy, glancing everywhere in the room with her eyes, touching the old wallpaper and breathing deeply like she could inhale the evil. Apparently, she can. “I don’t know if you kids should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your Mom.”  
Dean seems to land on relieved. Sam looks a bit disappointed. Jane’s still upset that she doesn’t like their EMF.  
“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows and stepping away from the wall he was leaning on. Missouri nods matter of factly, as if it’s obvious. This only makes him look more confused. “How do you know?”  
“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s something different.” Is that scarier or more comforting to Jay? She can’t quite decide.   
“Well, what is it then?” She steps away from her spot next to Dean that she just always seems to occupy and falls into the open of the room, where things are less certain.   
“Not it. Them.”  
“Wait, what?”  
“There’s more than one spirit in this place.”  
Dean pushes away from the pink walls finally, joining them at last in the center of the room. “What are they doing here?”  
“They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”  
“I don’t understand.” She places a hand on her head and stares at the ceiling as if that can make the situation any easier. The room looks like it’s spinning from this angle.  
“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist. A nasty one. And it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.”  
Poltergeist. That’s not so bad. They can deal with that right?   
Sam although, doesn’t seem as relieved to learn that this is something they have faced before. All he can focus on is the bad news which, frankly, is ruining the mood. “You said there was more than one spirit.”  
“There is,” Missouri answers matter of factly. Her brow furrows and she reaches out her hands again, closing her eyes as if to filter away as much of the world as possible. “I just can’t quite make out the second one.”  
Dean, whose face was ghost white the whole time, squares his shoulders and puts on a face of defiance. This is the Dean Jane grew up with. This is her big brother. “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again.”  
“So how do we stop it?”  
*********  
Jane’s beginning to think that maybe the overwhelming scent of herbs that follows Missouri around and isn’t her tea, but is the massive amount of plants and roots she seems to carry around with her. After Dean asks her how to stop the poltergeist, she had led them to a table in the living room and unpacked her purse full of stuff that looks straight out of a witch’s house.  
It smells like tea and incense in the small room, and Jane has to physically sit on her hands to stop herself from plugging her nose. Her eyes start watering without her consent. Misourri doesn’t seem to mind though.  
“So, what is all this stuff, anyway?” Dean asks, and judging by the way his face is scrunching around his nose he’s feeling the same discomfort she is.   
“Angelica Root, Van Van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends.”  
“Okay,” Sam asks, seemingly the only one who’s not even slightly weirded out by this whole situation. “So what are we supposed to do with it?”  
The woman smiles and Jay can already tell this is going to be the part of the plan she’s gonna like. “We’re gonna put them inside the walls in the north, south, east, west corners on each floor of the house.” Oh yeah, that sounds like so much fun.  
“So we get to punch holes in the wall?” She asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She could feel her cheeks being pulled up by a smile.  
Dean sighs from his side of the table, obviously not realizing the absolute joy that comes with breaking open the wall of someone else’s house. “Jenny’s gonna love that.”  
Missouri’s eyes shoot sideways and narrow like a cats, her own smile playing upon her lips. “She’ll live.” Priorities, man.   
“And you’re sure this’ll destroy the spirits?” Sam confirms, picking up a glass vial of brown dirt and admiring it.  
“It should.” She leans back in her chair casually. “It should purify the house completely.” She stands up and wipes some of the dirt off of her purple jeans and adresses them like the leader of an army, shoulders back and voice commanding is possible. “You’ll each take a floor, and I’ll do the bedroom. Seems to be the center of the problem. But we work fast. Once the spirits realize what we’re up to, things are gonna get bad.”  
*********  
Jenny leans against her door frame, peering at them furrowed brow and uncertain feet. She’s holding Richie in her arms, who’s wearing an adorable blue coat and shaking his fists back and forth. “Look, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you guys here alone,” she admits, offering them a tentitive smile.  
“Just take your kids to the movies or somethin’, and it’ll be over by the time you get back,” Missouri says with a kind touch to the shoulder, and like she willed it so Jenny leaves with Richie and Sari clutching at her hand. With one final look, she slams the door of her silver toyota and drives away.  
Back inside the house, Jane takes the hammer she had been assigned and heads up to the top level, finding a room that seems to be the master bedroom. She kneels next to a wall, painted an ugly beige color, checks that she has the small bag Sam had helped Missouri prepare, and smiles. With one swing, cracks the drywall. It feels good to break this place. To break this home.  
She can hear Missouri down the hall, humming while she breaks her own hole, and the dull thuds of Dean and Sam axing their way into the walls of the kitchen and basement. Their thumps seem hesitant and unsure. Their constant morality prevents them from being as destructive as she is. Sometimes it’s fun to destroy stuff.  
Bang! Bang bang!   
The hole in the wall is now big enough to fit her fist in and deep enough to stick the bag in, but for some reason she swings the hammer again and again, leaving pieces of plaster and the ugly fucking beige wallpaper all over the neat wooden floors. A few pieces even fall into her eyes, but she keeps slamming the hammer agianst the wall until the hole is big enough for a raccoon to climb into.   
She’s angry. She’s full of some sort of rage some sort of...sorrow that she hasn’t felt before. Anger at something and someone she can’t place, but there’s some fire in her that singes her skin and makes her face hot and her throat feel like it’s filled with acid. She wants something, she wants it and here it is and she can’t have it, she’s reaching and there it is but she can’t. She never could, she never could have it, and she’s so fucking...sad.  
If she can’t have this house, this life, this normal, why should they?  
Her wall-smashing frenzy is stopped by a few sounds. She can hear Dean crying out from downstairs. She can hear a smash in the room Missouri is in. She can’t hear Sam’s axe slamming into the wall. Something’s wrong.  
Jane hears the hammer hit the ground with a different kind of thump as she whips around. She makes it all of two steps to the door before someone grabs her by the neck, slamming her into the ground with so much force she sees stars as her skull slams into the wood. That’s a concussion 100%.  
She reaches up to grab at the arm, but finds nothing there-almost nothing. An old cable chord, flaying at the rubber electric guard wraps around her neck, creating angry red marks and cutting off her airflow while she squirms on the floor.  
“De-” She chokes out, her feet pushing at the ground like that will solve the problem. Her call doesn’t seem to work though, as she can still hear Dean fighting downstairs, his feet slamminga against the ground with more force than usual. Missouri hasn’t noticesd, Sam is too far away, so this up to her.  
That’s going well.  
Jane continues to flail her arms and legs, reaching the black cord and trying to pry off of her neck, but all that succeeds in is making it cut tighter into her windpipe. She doesn’t know if she should be upset her limbs are growing weaker and weaker, or happier this is going faster. Asphyxiation is a fucking awful way to die, especially when her brothers are rooms away.  
She reaches out to them with her mind, trying with the little remaining energy she has to get them to hear her choking to death up here. She doesn’t want to die in this fucking house.  
Just as her vision begins to blur, she hears thumping footsteps-2 sets-run up the stairs.   
“Jay!”  
Two voices. There’s hands on her now, holding her by her shoulders (callused, rough and urgent-Dean) and hands on her face (soft, concerned-Sam), something picking at her neck, probably trying to make it stop hurting.  
Why can’t she breathe again?  
One of the set of hands let’s go, and she thinks a panicked voice says ‘Bag’. Then there’s a flash of light so bright Jane couldn’t keep her eyes open if she wanted to. For a second she thinks that was death, that she just crossed over right as they began to help her, but then she takes a breath.  
Oxygen fills her lungs, burning her throat and making her eyes tear up. And then it leaves freely, nothing preventing it. They did it.  
“Jay?”  
With the very last bit of energy she has left, she reaches out to Sam’s shoulder. He pulls her into his lap, hands pressing her into his shoulder. Dean leans his head against her shoulder blade.  
Home.  
*********  
After that flash of light (which must have been the boys putting the bag into the wall) there are no more attacks. Missouri’s part of the job seemed to go incredibly well, lucky her, as she comes out of the room with no bruises or cuts and seems relatively surprised by the three of their states.  
“What happened to you three?” She asks, somewhere between concern and amusement. Jane rolls her eyes and tries to answer, but it just comes out as a croak. Damn poltergeist.  
“Shit happened,” Dean provides, helping her sit down at the kitchen table, and beginning to clean up the scattering of knives on the floor. She can only imagine how those got there, but the slight cut on Dean’s hand tells her he wasn’t the one throwing them.  
Sam sits down across from her and places his hands on her neck, gently feeling for anything that might be a long term problem. The bruises are already forming, but that’s just another day in the life. His hands halt when they land on her voicebox. “Can you try to talk sweetheart?” He tries, raising his eyesbrows encouragingly.  
“H-” She tries, but it’s just a rasp again. Goddamnit. “I can ta-alk,” she’s finally able to force out, but it makes her throat burn like a nasty cold. Sam winces and takes his hands away from her neck, grabbing her a glass of water from the now destroyed kitchen.   
“You’ll be fine, but don’t try too hard, kay?”  
She goes to respond but stops herself, shooting him a thumbs up instead. She then turns her attention to the kid’s glass in front of her. The water feels like medicine as it slides down her throat, cooling and soothing as it goes.  
“You sure this is over?” Sam asks, surveying the fucked up kitchen with his hands on his hips. His brows are furrowed as he takes in the knives, the scratched hardwood, the holes in the wall, the plaster on the floor, everything.  
“I’m sure. Why do you ask?” Missouri answers confidently, the opposite of Sam’s current stance and expression. He shrugs and sighs.  
“It’s nothin’, don’t worry about it.” Jane files that away as something to ask him about as soon as she can speak again.   
“Hello?” A feminine voice calls from the entry hall. Fuck. Jenny. “We’re home.” Jane waves her arms as some semblance of ‘do something!’ and goes to grab the broom she sees propped against the wall, but she’s too late and Jenny answers the room, almost dropping Richie in her shock.  
“What happened?” Her eyes scour over all of the mess they had been looking at earlier, as well as Dean holding at least seven different knives. Great timing.  
“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam reassures, earning a confused look from Dean. Jane wants to say ‘with what money?’ but figures this isn’t the best time. Jenny glances at the hole in the wall of her backsplash, the blue and white tiles scattered all over the floor, and Jay can almost see her calculating the price. But before she can get angry, which she most certainly is on the road to, Missouri steps forward, working that magic calming power that must come with being psychic.   
“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” His head snaps up at that, and for a second she fears that he’ll actually throw one of the knives at Missouri’s head. Missouri, who can obviously hear him, whips her head around and glares at him as he continues to remain stationary, making no effort to complete his task. “Well, what are you waiting for boy? Get the mop!” With a smirk, Jane shoves the broom at him and sits back down, going back to the bliss that is her water.  
“And don’t cuss at me!” She does laugh at that one, and the pain is worth it.  
*********  
After about an hour of Dean cleaning, Sam bringing Jane water and Missouri telling stories from when they were young. Eventually she regains her voice, and is able to muttering scratchy phrases with only minimal pain. Finally Jenny deems the home good enough, they leave a check of some stolen money on her table, Jane offers a quiet goodbye to Sari, and they head out.  
They trek out to the car, Dean helping her stumble into the backseat, where she instantly collapses, ready for a fat nap after that night she just had. With her eyes closed, she can hear her brothers slide into the familiar leather seats. She’s waiting for the rumble of the engine begins, but nothing happens. No noise-no nap.  
“Why are we still here?” She mumbles, not even bothering to sit up or open her eyes. Sam sighs.  
“I don’t know, I just...I have this bad feeling.”   
“But, why?” She mutters again, pulling at the old blanket that lays on the floor. Screw the fact that she’s wearing jeans and a canvas jacket, she’s going to fucking bed.   
“Yeah, Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean insists, leaning back in his chair.   
“Yeah, well, probably,” Sam defends. At this she sits up, finally realizing that she is not getting sleep anytime soon. “But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” She rubs the sleep from her eyes and throws down the blanket, taking another sup of the water and glancing out the window. The stars are pretty tonight.  
“Yeah well the real problem is I could be sleeping in a fucking bed right now,” she mutters, placing her forehead against the cool glass. She can see lights turning on in the upper level of the house, and a pair of curtains in what must be Sari’s room close. It’s so domestic.  
Then again, sitting in the Impala, staring at the stars, almost falling asleep in the backseat-that’s as close to domestic as she’s ever gonna get. And honestly, she’ll take it.  
Time passes again, and the cooling sensation on her forehead is almost as good as the soothing of the car’s engine. She’s close to falling asleep when Sam sits up straight in his seat and begins opening the door.   
“Guys. Guys look!”   
Jane sprints out of the car and glances at the house, where Jenny is standing in the window, screaming. She can almost hear the high-pitched noise from out here, and it triggers the fight response in her.   
“You guys grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny,” Dean commands, and just like that she’s off, all thoughts of sleep gone. She sprints into the house and up the stairs, straight into the room she knows to be Sari. The pink wall paper around the white closet door is being singed by a figure in the closet. A figure of raw fire.  
She can feel the heat on her face from here. It has no gender, no form, ot’s just a vaguely human shape made out of flames, and if this isn’t her nightmares personified, nothing is. She’s broken out of her terror-induced spell just as quickly as it came, shocked out of it by the crying girl behind her-shit Sari.  
“Okay, let’s go,” she says, putting on her best calm voice as she scoops up the little girl and places her on her back. It’s how Dean used to carry her whenever they used to get in trouble, out of a ghoul attack or even just when their Dad got angry. It’s just instinct for her, and for a second she thinks she might know what it’s like to be Dean.   
It’s not a good feeling. Too much pressire. The weight of the world on her shoulders. The weight of a little girl on her back. Too much.  
“I gotcha Sari,” she mumbles, almost to combat her own fear as she tramps down the steps. Sam exits another room carrying a screaming Richie as she gets to the bottom, and she waits for him. It’s stupid she knows, but the weight of the world is a little less with him by her side.  
“Don’t look!” Sam cries as they hurry down the hallway. Round a corner, into the kitchen, past the whole in the backsplash and to the entry hallway. “Don’t look guys, don’t look.” Jane wonders offhandedly if Dean had said something like that to Sam when they were running all those years ago, if it was just some memory in his subconcious that came out on instinct.   
Something upstairs collapses and Dean tramps down the stairs behind them. He beats them to the front, taking another route through the house. By the time the can see the front door it’s flapping in the wind, already shoved open by Dean. Sam crouches down and Jane slides Sari off of her back.  
She instantly reaches for Richie, and just with that she can tell she’s a damn good big sister. “Okay, now take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back, okay Sari?” She nods, and with one final shove from Sam she’s out the door, into the cool night air and safety.   
On instinct, Jane glances back, expecting to see nothing, but something hits her out of nowhere, knocking the wind out of her scratched up throat and slamming her and Sam into the wall. She can vaguely hear Sari scream as she witnessed it, but her thoughts are too much on her current predicament to pay it much mind.  
“FUCK!” She screams, and Sam doesn’t even try to correct her language. She fumbles for the knife in her back pocket but can’t get her hand unpinned from the table (it’s a table, she’s pinned to the wall by a damn table), and the knife remains in her back pocket, useless. Probably a good thing, what’s a knife gonna do against a damn poltergeist.  
“Jay!” Sam shouts. His free hand smacking at her shoulder.  
“I know, we’re stuck!” She screams back, her vocal chords stinging with the effort. She bangs on the wood, but nothing happens. Fuck, fuck, where the hell is Dean?  
“No Jay, look!” He points around the table. Craning her neck, she looks around the piece of wood, unavailable to look over as the sasquatch of Sam can. “Look at her…”  
There’s a thumping on the door, probably an axe. The spirit must have slammed that closed too, but someone’s trying to break through-her money’s on Dean, but she’s too focused on the spirit-spirits. The firey one from Sari’s closet is still there, flaming and sinister as ever, but there’s another. This one feels pure, and is obviously the ‘her’ Sam was referring to. She’s on fire too, but there’s less rage there.   
It almost feels like a guardian angel, and all Jane can do is stare, enraptured by the sight of these two spirits...fighting as the door is finally broken down. The good and the bad, although they look the same in almost everyway.  
But the good is taking shape. Becoming more womanly, more solid. Blonde hair. White cloth.  
“Jay?!” Dean. He’s concerned. “Sam, Jane?!” He turns to face them but is stopped by the flames and heat scorching his face. “Holy shit…” he mutters, quickly cocking his gun. But at the moment he aims at the “good” figure, it takes shape. She knows why Sam pointed to it.  
“Don’t!” She cries in unison with Sam. Dean turns around, his gun still pointed at the figures, and stares at them with a mixture of confusion and panic.  
“WHAT? WHY!?”  
“Because I know who it is,” she explains, craning her neck again to get just a glimpse of the figure. “I can see her now.”  
And then, the fire fades, and there’s only one spirit in the room. The other one is Mary Winchester. Complete with a nightgown and a kind face, exactly how she must have looked on the night she died.  
Dean’s hand begins to shake and the gun falls as Sam’s face slips into a sad smile. Jane just stares. That’s her Mom.  
“Mom?” Dean asks softly. His voice barely making it to her. She’s finally able to get away from the table, sliding herself against the wall until she can stand at full height, but she doesn’t do anymore than stand. That’s her MOM.  
She steps closer to Dean and cups his face, and the around them seems to cool, all attention on the poltergiest gone.  
“Dean.” She states, and Jane swears she’s never seen him happier than in that moment. It makes her heart ache in a way it only does when Dean talks about Mom. When she’s half-asleep and he thinks she’s asleep, and he starts to cry. That sort of ache. And then she turns and looks at Sam, who’se also escaped from the table prison, and her heart splits in two, because Sam’s crying, big fat tears and he’s still smiling, his and Dean’s eyes, never leaving her face. Jane doesn’t know where to look. “And Jane.”  
Her heart stops as her mother-her goddamn mother’s-eyes land on her, and they’re just as blue as they are in the pictures and her smile is just as kind as Dean’s stories and she feels like she’s flying for a second.   
That’s her Mom. If this is what Home feels like, she never wants to fucking leave.   
“I’m sorry.” But then the stillness in the air dissapates, and she can feel the heat on her face again. The poltergiest is still here, and it’s angry-but now they have a guardian angel.  
“You,” she speaks, reaching out to the ball of fire as if she’s gonna crush it with her bare hands. The fire flickers from a second. “Get out of my house. And let my kids go.” With one more glance back at the three of them, the ragtag group covered in new bruises and old scars, she bursts back into flames as bright and wondorous as the morning sun, and charges at the poltergeist.  
With one loud POP and a flash of light, they’re both gone. And it’s only them.  
“Now,” Sam pants, wiping tears off of his face and pulling Jane in by her shoulder to a half embrace. “Now it’s over.”  
*********  
Sam falls asleep in the car on the way to the motel, but Jane can’t. She’s stuck staring at the stars, picturing flaming mothers, splintered plaster and a house with a tree in front of it.  
“Do you ever wish you had a home?” She says it before she can even stop herself, and Dean’s head whips over to her. “I mean, I know that-”  
“Sometimes.” He says, ignoring her stumbling and answering straight out, with that confidence that only Dean has. “But then I realize I already have one.”  
The stars fly past, and the streetlights from the highway they just merged onto blend into them, artificial among natural.   
“No you don’t. We live in motel rooms. We change states every week.” She laughs slightly, and something catches in her throat besides the bruising and swelling. “We don’t have family photo albums or nice front yards or anything normal, we just have monsters and blood and fighting.”  
There’s a stretch of silence. She wipes the water off of her face, hot against the cold glass.  
“My home is you. You and Sam. This car, this job is my home.” Silence. “But if you weren’t here...it wouldn’t be home.”  
“Even if Sam was still here?”  
“Especially if Sam was here, I can’t put up with just him, I need you to lighten the load, kiddo.”  
She sniffs and smiles, and feels her heart lift a bit. The stars become less blurry, and they take their exit off of the highway, the neon lights of the motel sign dimming the stars light a bit. It’s stil peaceful though, just a bit more...colorful.   
“You’re my baby sister. And you’re a pain in my ass, but I still love you.” He puts the car in park and turns to look at her. Leaned against the window, staring at the sky, the lights of the sign making her eyes change color and hiding the bruises and cuts, making her look nothing less than beauutiful and innocent.  
“You’re my babygirl, Jane. Nothing in the world can change that.”  
She smiles,briefly at the nickname, shifting her eyes to him for a split second. He’s staring back with only sincerity in his eyes.   
He doesn’t use that one a lot. Makes them both feel vulnerable and younger than they are, but even when Dean grew out of slang like that and Jane got too old to be a baby, it stayed.   
“Don’t call me a baby.” She says, swinging her door open loudly enough to wake up Sam and beginning to stride towards their hotel room. “But I love you too, De.”  
Her heart lifts even higher, flying among the stars and the clouds.  
If this is what Home feels like, she never wants to leave.


	10. Asylum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings-talk of mental illness, asylums, violence, dead bodies, guns, talk of lobotomies and other experimental surgeries, teenage girls with guns,
> 
> PS-comment please! Criticism is welcome as long as it's polite. If there's something you'd like to see (I do original episodes) or something you'd like to change, tell me! I always want to improve my work. :)

The morning after they leave Lawrence is spent in a hotel room. Dean orders breakfast and they pass the time making phone calls to friends, emailing John’s hunting buddies and pacing the old carpeting. Nothing. Sam’s worried his feet will wear the ugly brown threads down to the cement if he keeps this up, but every single person they’ve called has given him nothing, so he just can’t stop moving.  
“No, Dad was in California last we heard from him,” He reports to Caleb, one of their old family friends. “We just thought, well, he comes to you for munitions, maybe you’ve seen him in the last few weeks. Just, call us if you hear anything.” Caleb replies with a gruff ‘kay’ never one for words, and hangs up the phone, leaving the thank you hanging in the air.  
“Caleb heard from him?” Jane asks, glancing up from her computer on her spot on the bed. Sam just shrugs and sighs.  
“Nope. And neither has Jefferson-”  
“Or Pastor Jim,” Dean finishes, slamming his phone closed and leaning his back against the faded wallpaper.  
“What about the journal?” Jane wonders, ever the optimist. “Any leads in there we haven’t found?”  
“Same as last time I looked, kid. Nothing I can make out-I mean, I love the guy, but I swear he writes like friggin’ Yoda.” That earns a little giggle from Jane, who closes the email tab she had opened and opens another one to another group of hunters, this time from the west coast.  
“Maybe we should call the feds. File a missing persons,” he offers. He knows it’s a bad idea as soon as he says it, as Dean’s head shoots up, a new fire in his eyes. Even Jane stops typing, pausing her rhythmic tapping to hear how this conversation plays out.  
“We've had this conversation, Sam, Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail.”  
“Well, I don't care anymore!” The concern over where he is has gotten greater than the concern of what he’ll do when he gets back. Sam’s relationship with his father is in no way smooth sailing, but he doesn’t hate the guy. He doesn’t want him dead, and Jane-Dean too for that matter-deserves a father who’s there.  
A cell phone rings from across the room, and Dean goes rummaging for it in their old torn up bags as he continues his rant. “After what happened in Lawrence, I mean...he should’ve been there Dean. You said so yourself.” No reaction, he just opens another bag. Jane types a single word on the computer, then stops again. “You and Jay tried to call him, and nothing.”  
“I know!” He finally bursts, shoving the second duffle to the side unceremoniously. “Now where the hell is my cell phone?”  
“You try your backpack?” Jane offers quietly. Dean stomps back across the room and opens the zipper loudly, his frustration in his movements becoming more and more apparent, like he can’t hold it in anymore. Every tug of a zipper, every dig has more energy forced into it than one would need, more power than necessary.  
“He could be dead for all we know.”  
Dean whirls around, staring Sam dead in the eyes. The air between them is tense, as if you could physically touch it, or something might jump across it. This is normally the part where Jane would intervene, stop the fight, but she does nothing, just stays planted on the bedspread and stares at the ground, eyes wide with a combination of shock and fear. Okay, maybe Sam went too far.  
“Don’t say that.” She forces out between her teeth, nearly shaking with the energy. “He’s not dead.”  
“Then what is he, huh?” Sam blurts before he can stop himself. “Hiding? Busy?”  
“I don’t know, but he’s not fucking dead Sam, he’s just not-”  
“Guys.”  
They both turn to face the older brother, the one this fight should’ve been revolving around in the first place. Sam makes a mental note to apologize for scaring Jane later. Even if he is dead, she doesn’t deserve to think about that.  
Dean’s staring at the phone (which he apparently located) with all of his attention, the glowing light reflecting in his green eyes. “I don’t believe it.”  
“What?” Jane demands, rising from her spot on the bed and pacing over to where he’s standing, peering over his shoulder.  
“It’s a text message. Coordinates.”  
Almost instantly the two of them are in motion, Dean pulling a map from his backpack along with Dad’s journal, and Jay rushing over to the laptop, choosing the more modern approach of decoding the message. Sam stands there, slowly running over the possibilities of what this could mean.  
“You think Dad was texting us?” Jane’s typing is back with renewed energy and force, the fear on her face from earlier completely gone and replaced with a new determination-hope.  
“He’s given us coordinates before,” Dean replies with a shrug, as if this whole situation isn’t a little too hard to believe. They get one text-one text-from an unknown number and suddenly all is well, Dad must be alive, and everything is right with the world. Bullshit. Even the most trusting of people should be a little suspicious of that.  
“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.” He defends, but he gets no laughs to the quip, and only a death glare from Dean. Jane looks up from her screen, a little smile making her cheeks puff up with hope. She really thinks this is it.  
“Sam, this is good news! It means he’s okay, or at least alive.” The final words definitely aren’t dig at Sam’s previous words, but they cancel each other out, or at least they do in Jane’s teenage brain.  
“Well, was there a number on the caller ID?” He shoots back, trying to keep his voice level and stop the conversation from turning into another argument.  
“Nah, it said unknown.” Dean’s the picture of casuality, leaning back in his chair and staring out the window, all the anxiety and worry from earlier gone and replaced with calm and sureness.  
“Well, where do the coordinates point?”  
“Jane?” He asks, giving her the cue to speak.  
“Rockford, Illinois.” She announces triumphantly, spinning the computer around so they can all see it. “It’s kinda weird actually.”  
“Weird how?” Sam asks, leaning down so he can see. The town is in the middle of the state. Not anywhere near a big city, but not in the middle of nowhere. Normal suburb, probably the white-picket fence kinda place.  
“Because I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this,” she responds, clicking open another tab. It’s the website for the local newspaper, and the big headline news story is a murder.  
“So the cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth and blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner, Gunderson, responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.” She rambles out.  
The picture of Kelly on the page is black and white-a man in a cop uniform, smiling for the camera. Average looking guy-the type of cop you’d expect to pull you over for a busted taillight, not murder his wife. He has to admit, it is fishy-but it has absolutely no relation to them or their Dad.  
“Okay, but I’m not following. What does this have to do with us?”  
Dean tosses the journal at him, open to a page with a single article. Some phrases are highlighted, some are underlined-clearly their Dad’s form of research. It’s a different article, but it’s the same website, and the same town.  
“Dad put that asylum-Rockford-in the journal. He has seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths-that is until last week. I think this is where Dad wants us to go.”  
It hits Sam like a brick, and his heart sinks at the same time a fresh bout of anger rises to meet it. He almost feels like laughing in some sick way, laughing at the whole fucked up world for this. He also wants to punch his father square in the jaw.  
“This is a job,” he forces out, along with the laughter he thought would stay hidden. “Dad wants us to work a job.” It all just feels like some cruel trick, some way to get them angry and drive them crazy. Although he seems to be the only one feeling the crazy right about now.  
“Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?” Jane tries, shrugging, that goddamn smile still sitting on her face.  
“Or maybe he’s not!” he fires back like a gun, and for a second the smile falls again, slipping as she reconsiders the whole situation. “He could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.” She looks a bit disappointed at this statement, but Dean puts on a voice like their father and nearly commands all the sadness right out of her.  
“Who cares! If he wants us there, it’s good enough for me!”  
He can’t help but roll his eyes. “This doesn't strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Jane stands up and opens her mouth, but quickly shuts it. He doesn’t know who’s side she was going to take.  
“Sam! Dad's tellin' us to go somewhere, we're going.” It’s final. He’s decided, and since he’s got the car, they have to go.  
One of these days he’ll take a stand. Tell him that he’s going back to school, or just going to look for Dad, no more detours. Let Jane choose what she wants. But for now he can only sigh and begin to pack up his stuff.  
*********  
The drive to Rockford isn’t too long, and by dinner time they’re pulling into the city. Small, suburban, a few too many buildings that look like they’re abandoned. Creepy, but not too much to be suspicious. Nice place to work a case.  
As soon as they get to main street Dean smiles, taking in the array of neon colored signs announcing bars and diners in the area. He ends up choosing one that offers ‘the best damn burgers in Illinois’. It’s not very crowded, just a few people here and there-a young couple, a family of four, a few middle aged men at the bar. One seems to catch Dean’s eye.  
“You're Daniel Gunderson. You're a cop, right?” He asks, grabbing Jane’s sleeve and tearing her away from the menu to interview him. Sam studies the man for a second and then realizes-Gunderson. He was Kelly’s partner, the one that had gone into the asylum when he did. That’s why Dean wants to interview him.  
Currently though, he seems to be having little success. The man, looking drunk and tired, waves Dean away multiple times, and even Jane’s wide eyes and innocent face gain nothing from him. Quickly Sam develops a plan, taking into consideration his desperate want to punch both of them in the face at the moment.  
With a few quick steps, Sam shoves Dean away from the man and to the other end of the bar, putting on the face of a very patriotic american. “Hey buddy, why don’t you leave the poor guy alone! The man’s an officer!” Jane looks confused, but doesn’t stop him, probably realizing the act. Sam’s never been an oscar-award worthy performer, but so far this seems to be working. “Why don’t you show a little respect!”  
Both siblings stare at him for a second, but then something shifts in Jane’s eyes. She’s caught on. She grabs Dean’s arm, mutters something and pulls him away, confusion still lingering in his eyes. The cop sighs and takes another drink from his half-empty beer glass, his eyes glazed over, not with drunkeness, but greif.  
“You didn’t havta do that,” he mutters, keeping his eyes on the dented wood of the bar. Sam shrugs and takes the stool next to him, following suit and refusing eye contact.  
“Of course I did. That guy’s a serious jerk.” He glances back one last time at Dean, who’s scanning the menu and talking quickly at a very exasperated looking Jane. He’s surprised at how easy the lie is. “Let me buy you a beer, huh?”  
Gunderson glances up at him from hooded eyes and scans him in that way only disappointed parents or law enforcement can do, as if he’s seeing into his soul and judging all the crimes he’s ever done. Sam hopes his patriotic persona has never killed a man. Finally he speaks, offering not a smile, but an affirmative nod.  
“Thanks.”  
*********  
Jane talks the entire dinner about a book she read in middle school. Sometimes it’s entertaining, because she summarizes it in that way that only teenagers do, with adult royalty cursing like a sailor, and crazy gestures during the violent scenes. Sometimes though she starts talking about the significance of a certain phrase or some bullshit (because she’s a genius like that) and Dean would rather cut out his own tongue with a rusty scalpel than listen to that.  
After dinner, she drags him outside because Sam is still talking to the cop (after he shoved him, he freaking shoved him) and forces him to sit on the hood of the car and wait. Why he lets her be this bossy, he’ll never know. After the sun has set and the street is only by lamps and headlights, Sam finally exits, a lazy smile on his face telling them both he’d been triumphant. He rolls his eyes.  
“You shoved me kinda hard there, buddy boy.” Sam just shrugs in response, leaving Jane to defend him.  
“It’s called method acting, De.” She smirks and slides into the car, leaving Dean standing there, confused and getting cold in November  
“Huh?”  
“Never mind. Sam, what’d you find out from Gunderson?”  
“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop,” Sam explains, suddenly away from joking mode and back to business as usual-let’s solve the case. “Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”  
“What about at home?” He did kill his wife, and just because someone is good at their job doesn’t mean that they’re good at relationships.  
“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.”  
Jane frowns at the statement, obviously trying to put together how that could equal murder-short answer, it doesn’t. “So either Kelly had some very buried crazy waiting to burst out, or something else did it to him.”  
“Right,” Sam confirms, pulling out a pencil and tossing it to her as she begins to take notes, doing that nerd shit she does that always seems to save their lives in the end.  
“And the asylum?” He asks, pulling up a the map to it on the GPS. “What’d he say about that?”  
He puts the car into gear as the machine points him West.  
“A whole lot.”  
*********  
The fence is too big for Jane to climb over, as much as she tries to convince the boys she can, so Sam ends up coaching her through how to climb over, talking over each step she makes before she makes it and offering a bandaid when her hand lands on the barbed wire. In the end, she has to make the jump down into his arms though, and Dean feels his anger at Sam dissipate a little bit when he catches her fully, letting her land with an ‘oof’ and then setting her down on the ground gently.  
The asylum is just as creepy as one would expect, with broken down cement walls and old rusted stakes wherever you look. It feels like something out of a horror movie, but then again, their whole lives are just one big horror movie, so it’s not too surprising.  
Sam leads them through the building, past a crumbling front desk, and what must have been a communal shower type room, straight to a large locked door-propped open by a rotting piece of wood. Apparently he had already looked up the floorplan to this place, ever the overachiever.  
“So apparently the cops chased the kids here-into the south wing.” Jane kicks at the sign labeling the area on the ground-it’s covered in dirt and what is probably shit.  
“Spooky,” she deadpans, walking through the doorway as if nothing can scare her. The words ‘south wing’ though....something in Dean blinks, some reminder that he knows that phrase. It’s important.  
“South wing,” he repeats, opening the journal and leafing to the page with the article. There right there-in the headline of the article. “1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.”  
“Spooky,” Jane repeats, this time a little less deadpan.  
“So whatever’s going on, the south wing is the heart of it,” Sam concludes, shining his flashlight over dented steel countertops and old containers of medical supplies that make his stomach clench.  
“But if kids are breaking into the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?” He asks, glancing around at the cobwebs and shadows lit only by their own artificial light-sticks.  
Jane lifts up a chain from the door-a lock. The door wasn’t always unlocked-the propped open door is a new development. “Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could've been chained up for years.”  
“Yeah, to keep people out,” Sam finishes, shining his light on the silver links, long ago lost their shine.  
“Or to keep something in.” Jane smirks, always loving to treat cases like an old ghost story. Whatever helps her sleep at night.  
With only a split-second of hesitation, Dean pushes open the door, stepping into the South wing.  
“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel,” he quips as they begin their journey down one of the long hallways, a broken window at the end letting in a small breeze. Jane tightens her jacket around her, but doesn’t even flinch when a door slams behind them.  
“Dude, enough.”  
“I’m serious, Sam. You gotta be careful, all right?” And he is serious. All jokes aside, the psychic thing is weird, and makes almost every situation they face on the daily even more dangerous. “Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.”  
“I told you, it's not ESP!” Sam protests. He sounds whiny, like a little kid, and he nearly trips on an old nail trying to spin around and face him. Even Jay, who usually defends Sam in this case having some sort of soft spot (fear maybe?) for his powers, has to laugh a bit at that one. “I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.”  
“Yeah, whatever, dude.” Dean dismisses, pulling out his EMF reader and waving it around in the dusty air. The lights stay out though, no familiar beeping or pulsing greeting him, which is honestly a surprise.  
“You get any reading on that?” Jane asks, kicking open a door on the left to reveal a medical room, complete with an old heart monitor on the wall. She closes the door as quickly as it’s open.  
“Nope. But it doesn't mean no one's home.”  
“Spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day?” Sam tries as an explanation, but the fact that the sun is barely visible, even from the third floor of this place makes the point a bit moot.  
“The freaks come out at night!” Jay sing-songs, almost skipping down the hall to another sign and reading it with all of her interest. Sometimes Dean forgets she’s a kid.  
“Yeah, I guess,” he replies, smiling at the way she wiggles her eyebrows at him. A goofy kid that likes ghost stories a bit too much.  
“Hey Sam, who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?” All Dean gets in response to that one is a shoulder to the chest and a stifled giggle from Jane.  
At the end of the hallway there are two doors, one that’s firmly boarded shut, and one that swings open as soon as they reach it. It’s a tough choice, creepy or mega creepy, but Sam makes the decision for them and enters the open door, going into an even more sinister looking medical examination room.  
Jane instantly spots a table that could only be some sort of twisted torture contraption and pokes at it weakly.  
“Electro-shock,” she states, only slightly scared of the giant metal machines. Sam picks up a scalpel like device from his side of the room, letting the light glint off of it and onto the walls.  
“Lobotomies. Man, they did some twisted stuff to these people.”  
Dean smiles. “Like my man Jack in Cuckoo’s Nest,” he shoots, giving crazy eyes to Jane. She just frowns.  
“I didn’t like that movie.”  
These two are no fun sometimes.  
“So. Whaddya think? Ghosts possessing people?” He asks, inspecting a piece of metal shaped like a cap. It’s hooked up to a machine that looks like a heart monitor, but less sophisticated. Maybe an early brain scan type machine?  
“Maybe. Or maybe it's more like Amityville,” Jane fires back, countering Dean’s movie reference with one of her own.  
“I didn’t like that movie,” he mutters, shoving away the device and causing it to make a scary-ass clicking noise. “So spirits driving them insane, that’s your theory? Kinda like my man Jack in the Shining.” He smiles again, bringing break the crazy eyes in his best impersonation of the actor.  
“Dean,” Sam states, his voice taking that-no-more-bullshit tone. He drops the crazy eyes instantly and gets ready for more arguing. “When are we gonna talk about it?”  
“Talk about what?” He responds nonchalantly, walking out of the room and back down the hallway as if he can physically run away from the conversation. He can’t, obviously, because the prick follows him.  
“About the fact that Dad’s not here.” He steps on some glass, but it just crunches underneath his boot.  
“Oh. I see. How ’bout...never,” he tries, turning another corner into the ‘main room’ of the South wing. Jane’s following behind, and she huffs a sigh at that, although he doesn’t know who exactly she’s annoyed with.  
“I’m being serious man.”  
“So am I, Sam. He sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We’ll pick up the search later.” Another glass crunch, this time from Sam.  
“It doesn’t matter what he wants.” Straight to the point and factual. As if it’s not complete bullshit.  
“See. That attitude? Right there? That is why I always get the extra cookie.”  
“You guys-” Jane tries, but the argument is already way underway, rolling too fast for her to stop.  
“Dad could be in trouble, we should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean.” Sam takes another step towards him throwing his hands out to his sides animatedly, an old can being stepped on this time. It’s louder, more rash. It’s not the quiet whisper of glass anymore, but the loud crunch of tin.  
“This is our family we're talking about.”  
Screw Sam, screw him to hell for that move. Screw him for bringing up that word in this damn conversation.  
“Sam, he’s given us an order.” Another step forward. If he reached his hand out he could touch him now, could shove him across the room and right into that damn dent in the wall.  
“So what, we gotta always follow Dad's orders?” Step forward.  
“Of course we do.” Firm voice. The anger’s rising like bile, getting so much he just wants to punch something-maybe even someone.  
“Guys-”  
“But why? Why do we have to follow his rules?”  
“Because he’s family Sam, you just said that!”  
“Are you calling me a hypocrite?!” Another step forward. Another can crushed. They’re chest to chest now.  
“GUYS!”  
“WHAT?!”  
It happens faster than either of them are ready for. Sam whips around, his arm goes right into her face, Jane falls on her butt, right into a pile of glass.  
The whole tone of the room changed in an instant, from anger and heat to guilt. Sam’s the first to start apologizing, with muttered ‘I’m sorry’s’ in a constant stream as he helps her to her feet.  
“Are you okay kid?”  
“Yeah.” She ties her hair back and glances at her hand, the only place that seemed to be cut by the glass. “I’m fine. Now can you two stop fucking fighting for one minute?”  
Neither of them speak. Dean stares at the ground. Sam apologizes again, so quietly they almost don’t hear.  
“I’m okay. We’re okay. Dad’s okay.” She forces the words out with so much force she almost bites her tongue out, but what really makes Dean flinch is her eyes, staring fucking daggers at both of them. She may be small, but she’s fucking terrifying when she’s mad. “We are going to fucking find Dad, Sam. But we’re gonna help people first. And people are dying here, so we’re gonna help them.”  
She turns around and paces towards the wall, taking a breath so deep it seems like she’s exhaling her whole lungs, but when she turns around she’s more calm, more collected she’s in work mode.  
“Sanford Ellicott,” she says pointing to a sign on the wall. Must’ve been a doctor that worked there. “We have to do research, see if something happened in the South Wing.”  
And with that she’s gone, walking out of the asylum with her backs to them. She bandages her own cut and sleeps in her own bed that night.  
They obviously fucked up. Sam and him always fight but this...went too far. Now Jane is hurt because of him.  
“Jay,” he tries when they get back to the car, but she just lifts up her non-bleeding hand and stares at him.  
“Not right now.”  
All he can do is say okay and leave it be.  
But the tension’s still there, and now it’s surrounding all three of them. No peacekeeper anymore.  
*********  
“Sam Winchester?”  
The doctor doesn’t look like he’d be the descendant of some crazy lunatic to Sam, but then again, sometimes people aren’t like their family. Refolds the magazine he was pretending to read and sets it on the stained coffee table, rising up to his full height with a polite smile.  
“That’s me.”  
“Come on in.” Elicott leads him down the hall into what seems like the most basic therapist room he’s ever seen-minus everything but the ‘hang-in there’ kitten poster. Plants that are definitely fake, white noise machine, everything. Sam wants to break a window and leave, but they need info, and this is the best person to get info out of.  
“Thanks again for seeing me last minute.” He reaches forward and adjusts the crooked gold sign on his desk, letting the name Ellicott face him completely. Here goes nothing. “Ellicott, that name. Wasn’t there a Dr. Sanford Ellicott?” The other man looks up from his notepad, somewhere between confused and concerned. “Yeah, he was a chief psychiatrist somewhere.”  
“My father was chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum,” He states cleanly, in that professional voice he’s never been able to quite nail. “How did you know?”  
“Ah. Well, I'm sorta...a local history buff.” Yep, that’s it., Definitely not conducting a ghost investigation at his old place of work. No sir. “Hey, wasn't there, an incident or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?”  
Ellicott doesn’t look amused, peering over his glasses and raising his eyebrows. Jane had warned about this, how shrinks don’t like to talk about themselves. How she found out he doesn’t want to know, but he took the advice to heart.  
“We're on your dollar, Sam. We're here to talk about you.”  
“Oh, okay,” he settles back into his chair and swallows, brain racing to come up with a believable fake excuse as to why he would need a psychiatrist. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”  
“So. How's things?” Simple. To the point. He can answer that.  
“Things are good, doctor.” That sounds right, right? Not overly worried, but okay?? Maybe too okay?? Ellicott doesn’t seem to think so, as he smiles lightly and writes a few words down.  
“Good. Whatcha been doing?”  
Ah, okay, here’s one he had prepared for.  
“Same old. I’ve just been on a road trip with my brother and little sister.”  
“Was that fun?”  
Was it? I mean sure, it had its moments. Teasing Dean is fun, making Jane laugh is fun. Driving the car is fun, hell, sometimes even hunting is fun. But...he’s gotten punched in the face more times than he can count. He fights with them on the daily. When he closes his eyes he sees his girlfriend dying, and he’s watched both Jane and Dean get hurt and tortured in front of him. He’s watched Jane shoot a serial killer that had kidnapped her and listened as Dean parroted his father in every circumstance he can. He’s sat back and followed orders, killed monsters, protected his siblings. It’s not new, it’s not fun. It’s just the same old.  
But Ellicott can’t get him to start talking about that, because then it’s a one way ticket to a psych ward.  
“Loads. Loads of fun. You know we...we met a lot of interesting people.” We met a psychic woman who can sense spirits with her mind. We met my dead mother’s ghost. “Did a lot of interesting things, you know?” We went hiking in the woods and fought a cannibal-monster thing. We killed a shape-shifter that looked like Dean. We’ve looked for our father across half of the damn country and still haven’t found him. “What was it exactly that happened in the South Wing? I forget.”  
The doctor sighs again, and Sam almost feels bad for taking up this poor man’s time. He places the pen on the table with more force than necessary and adjusts his posture so he can look directly into Sam’s eyes, right into his lies. He hopes his acting holds up as well as it did at the bar now.  
“Look, if you're a local history buff, you know all about the Roosevelt riot.”  
Riot. That’s good, that’s something.  
“The riot. Well, yeah, I know. I’m just curious.”  
“Sam.” Shit. This isn’t slight annoyance anymore, this is full on psychiatrist voice. He’s figured it out, he knows what he’s trying to do. “Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.”  
He is, of course, that’s what he came here to fucking do.  
“What subject?”  
“You.” Right. He’s at a therapist. This is about him. “Now I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you all about the Roosevelt riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself. Like, uh, the two you're road tripping with. How do you feel about them?”  
Oh, boy. Here we freaking go.  
*********  
Sam walks quickly out of the building, trying to get as far away as possible from the one person that now knows more about him than any stranger should know. Dean and Jane are outside, leaning on the wall and chatting casually. He strides right past them, kinda hoping they won’t notice but they do, shoving up and falling in stride with him quickly. How Jane can do it with her short-ass legs, he’ll never know.  
“Dude! You were in there forever!” She exclaims, punching him in the arm lightly. “What the hell were you talking about?”  
“Just the hospital, you know,” He dismisses, making sure his hand wave is small and concise and it doesn’t smack Jane in the face. She barely even notices the gesture, just raises her eyebrows for him to continue.  
“And...?”  
“And the south wing? It's where the housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane.”  
“Mm,” she nods, already pulling her hair back in that way that means she’s thinking hard.  
“Sounds cozy,” Dean comments, which is only half as funny as he thinks it is.  
“Yeah. And one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other.” The each other part had troubled him when he heard it. All the patients, they’re in the same boat, why would they do that? Then again, crazy can do things to people, can change their thinking.  
“So did the patients take over the asylum?” Jane follows up, obviously looking for an easy way to piece it together. She’s always described her thinking process like putting together a story, finding the ‘character’ motivation, the climax, the plot points leading up to the story. He wonders if that’s why none of it scares her-she just sees it as a story. He also wonders if that’s why she’s such a damn good writer-she’s just telling the stories she experiences.  
“Apparently, yeah.”  
“Any deaths?” That’s Dean’s part of the investigation, the straight facts. Who died, where, and how do they stop any deaths that may come. Sadly the answer isn’t very simple for this one  
“Some patients, some staff. I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.”  
“Never recovered, what’s that mean?” Jay asks, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk like a kid. Dean steps over it too, and for a second Sam wonders if that’s a habit that he picked up from her.  
“Cops scoured every inch of the place but I guess the patients must've...stuffed the bodies somewhere hidden.”  
Both siblings grimace in tandem with almost perfectly matching expressions. Sometimes they look so alike it’s scary. “Spooky,” Jane mumbles, with none of the humor from their expedition to the asylum last night.  
“Yeah. So, they transferred all the remaining patients and closed the hospital down.” And then they left it to rot until it became the spooky-ass crumbly building it is now, complete with cobwebs and scary looking machinery.  
“So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies,” Dean sighs, obviously seeing all of the holes in this case, all of the info they have yet to find and probably will never find.  
“And a bunch of angry spirits.” Jane finishes, connecting the dots into her perfect, frustrating plot. “Good times,” she mutters, mostly to herself.  
“Let's check out the hospital again tonight,” Dean recommends. “Later. When the freaks come out.”  
“Sounds like a plan.”  
*********  
Dean mans the EMF meter when they finally head back to the asylum, not touching anyone else to touch it and not break it. Jane mans the flashlight, because it makes her feel like she’s responsible, and Sam walks in front. Because he decided to. And Dean’s still not quite good enough with him to take his spot.  
The whole place is ten times eerier at this time of night, with no shadows and just all around darkness. The cobwebs almost glow in the night and the broken glass on the floor is the same, like little stars scattering the dirty old tiles.  
“Getting readings?” Sam asks, poking open a door with his toe.  
“Yeah, big time.” The machine is making a high-pitched whining noise and almost all of the LEDs are flashing, putting the whole building at a ghost hot spot level of concern. This isn’t a casual haunting.  
Jane glances around at the various glows in the air, spheres of colorless light like dust, except more surreal. “And it’s orbing like crazy.”  
“Probably multiple spirits out and about,” she concludes, swinging the flashlight into another room, this one more dusty than the last.  
Sam rounds a corner and nearly bumps into a collapsed segment of wall, where they can see the pipes in the drywall. “So if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”  
“We gotta find ’em and burn ’em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit... is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer.” He taps Jane on the shoulder and she spins around, caught off guard for a split second. “So you, don’t go running off and starting any fights, kay kid?”  
She nods with an eye roll, obviously still a bit pissed about the run in the last time they were here, and points the flashlight again at the end of the hall, moving even farther into the winding maze that is this place.  
After a few minutes more walking they come across their first spirit, or more Dean does, disobeying his own instructions and wandering into a random room. The air turns cold suddenly, and when he turns around sees an old woman-she’s only got one eye. The other one hangs out of her socket from a single thread of flesh.  
“Guys?!” He shouts, trying to keep still even though she’s obviously spotted him and is moving at a fast rate towards him, hands shaking like the classic old lady would. “GUYS!”  
Right on cue Jane runs into the room, having been with Sam on their own mini-investigation. She takes one look at the situation and takes her shotgun from around her chest, aiming it and firing the salt round at the ghost with one shot. Perfect aim too-nearly misses Dean, hits the woman right on.  
“That’s my girl,” he congratulates, earning a small smile from her. Sam finally joins the club, rounding the corner and seeing Jane, still with a raised gun and a slightly out of breath Dean standing in the doorway to a patient's room.  
“What happened?”  
“Ghost,” Dean answers simply, brushing past him and continuing down the hall. The two follow him, but at a slower speed. Finally Jane talks, brows furrowing.  
“That was weird.”  
“Damn right it was, did you see her eye?”  
“No-well yes De, I saw her eye-I mean it’s weird that she didn’t attack you.”  
Dean thinks back to the moment. The one eyed lady, panicking slightly as Jay had the gun and he didn’t, her movements. She was definitely moving towards him, and not slowly either.  
“I don’t know, she looked pretty mad from where I was standing.”  
“But she didn’t hurt you,” Jane argues back, walking ahead of him and turning around so they can make eye contact. “She didn’t even try! So if she didn’t want you dead then what did she want?”  
“Guys.”  
They both turn around, taking in the room Jane had unknowingly backed them into. Sam’s pointing his flashlight at the bed in the corner, where a tiny bit of blonde hair is peeking over the edge.  
In half a second Dean grabs the gun from Jane, shoving her behind him and taking a step forward, finger on the trigger to take out anything that this could be. Jay may not think that the spirit was trying to hurt him, but he isn’t taking any chances.  
With one smooth and almost silent motion he flips the bed over, revealing the owner of the blonde hair that was crouching behind it-a girl.  
Not a ghost, not something threatening. A teenage girl, probably a year older than Jane. She covers her face with her hands quickly and skitters backwards, obviously noticing the two tall men and the giant gun in her face.  
“It’s alright, we’re not going to hurt you,” Jane reassures, instantly worming her way through the group and down to the girl, taking the role of caregiver instinctually. Sometimes Dean wonders how she got so damn nice. “What’s your name?”  
“Katherine. Kat,” she corrects, obviously more comfortable talking to someone her age then someone a decade older than her and holding a gun. It’s a reasonable preference.  
“Okay. I'm Jane, these are my brothers, Dean and Sam.”  
“What are you doing here?” Sam nearly demands, all attempts at making her comfortable going out the window. She flinches at the bite in his words and Jay turns around, shooting him snake eyes.  
“Um. My boyfriend, Gavin,” Kay weakly explains, tucking some of her blonde hair behind her ear. It’s about the same length as Jane’s, but way more well kept.  
“Is he here?” Jane asks, already glancing around for another person to save, another person to help.  
“Somewhere,” Kat answers, and Dean’s heart sinks, knowing their job just got about ten times harder. Now they need to babysit. “He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just, you know, pretend.” She flinches again, a shiver running down her spine at practically nothing. Jane offers a little smile when she notices the fear, trying to make the whole ‘monsters are real’ realization more pleasant. Her breathing starts to speed up. “I saw things, and I heard Gavin scream and-”  
“Alright. Kat?” Dean tries, offering his hand to help her stand up. She brushes off her jeans and leans against the cement wall, evidently not caring about the dust and mold falling onto her shirt. “Sam's gonna get you out of here and then we're gonna find your boyfriend.”  
“No!” She pushes off of the wall and stands up straight, crossing her arms over her chest in that way Dean knows is teenage defiance. “No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.”  
“It's no joke around here, okay?” Sam tries, obviously trying to talk her out of this. Destroying a ghost (maybe multiple) is like twenty times harder when you’re trying to keep your eye out for an untrained girl. “It's dangerous.”  
“That's why I gotta find him.”  
Jane glances at him and shrugs, obviously already taking a liking to this girl. He sighs and avoids eye contact with Sam, who he can already feel bitchface-ing him.  
“I guess we’re gonna split up then. Let’s go.”  
Sam goes off with Jane, farther west while Dean heads east with Kat. She stares after Jane uncomfortably as she leaves, obviously wanting someone in the same boat as her, but Dean sure as hell isn’t leaving Sam or Jane alone, even with her, so he just grabs her wrist and pulls her deeper into the asylum, over glass and broken medical equipment.  
“I got a question for you. You’ve seen a lot of horror movies, yeah?” He asks, noticing the same lust for adventure in her that he sees daily in his sister.  
Kat shrugs. “I guess so.”  
“Do me a favor. Next time you see one, pay attention. When someone says a place is haunted, don’t go in.”  
*********  
“I’m sorry for slapping you in the face the other day.”  
“It’s okay.” Her words are clipped and she focuses on walking forward silently, waving the flashlight from side to side. Sam sighs, his words obviously not getting the meaning across. “It was an accident.”  
“No, Jay.” He insists this time, spinning her around to face him. She stares up at him with cold eyes. She’s not mad she’s just...tired, her blue eyes looking more grey in the light. “I messed up, me and Dean. We shouldn’t fight so much, and we shouldn’t make you pick up the pieces.”  
She stares at him for a second, reading into his expression. Looking across the old scars and the new ones, trying to find a lie or fake sincerity. Nothing. Sam means this. He doesn’t want to fight anymore, he’s just as tired as she is. He just...he wants to find his Dad. And he wants to help people. And he wants to follow his own path. And sometimes those things conflict and then Dean...and it all explodes.  
And with one look, Jane understands.  
“I forgive you Sammy.”  
It’s short and to the point, but when she walks back down the hallway to what must be the boiler room, she has a new spring in her step. Sam knows he finally did something right, finally got closer to fixing the twisted mess of a relationship he has with her.  
He knows she hates him. He knows she loves him. Sometimes Jane gets so scared he’ll leave her again that she wakes up at night crying and holds on to him so tight it leaves marks on his shoulders and makes him promise not to leave again. He knows he fucked up, knows he broke something inside of her that night he left for Stanford, knows he’s a part of the reason she sticks to Dean like glue, knows he’s part of the reason she’s so cold to some people but so warm to others. But he also knows that piece by piece, he’s starting to rebuild that something.  
When they enter the boiler room, there’s a body on the floor, and Jane identifies it as Gavin before Sam can even realize what he’s seeing.  
“Hey, Gavin,” she mutters, shaking his shoulder gently. He sits up with a gasp and glances around, evidently still a bit out of it. After realizing a strange girl with frizzy hair is grabbing onto his shoulder he tries to squirm away, similar to the way Kat did. Jane stops him with a gentle hand and a gentle voice. “It’s okay, we’re here to help.”  
“Who are you?” He whispers out, his voice hoarse, probably from screaming at something scary.  
“My name is Sam, that’s Jane. We found your girlfriend.”  
At that he’s standing, brushing off his pants and glancing around, obviously looking for the blonde that’s currently on the other side of the building. “Kat? Is she alright?”  
“Yeah. She's worried about you,” Jane answers with a little smile, scanning him for any injuries. His pants are torn at the knees and Sam can barely see the bruised skin in the light. “You okay?”  
“I was running. I think I fell,” he explains. Jane instantly begins looking around, worried as to what they might have just walked into. Sam’s hands twitch towards the shotgun.  
“You were running from what?”  
“There was...there was this girl,” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying to throw out the image. “Her face. It was all messed up.”  
“Okay um, did this girl... did she try and hurt you?” Jane obviously still stands by the theory that the ghosts aren’t trying to hurt people, and in this case she seems to be right, as Gavin begins to nod his head, seemingly confused by the revelation.  
“What no she, she uh...she kissed me.”  
Oh. That’s a new one.  
“But she didn’t hurt you like, physically?” Jane confirms, obviously still trying to confirm her theory. Gavin whips towards her, disgusted and suddenly angry.  
“Dude, she kissed me! I’m scarred for life!”  
With a small sigh she pats him on the shoulder and continues her search of the old room, only revealing mildew and dust. “Well, trust me, it could have been worse. Do you remember anything else?”  
“She uh...actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear.”  
“What?” Sam takes a step forward, interested in this part. Gavin just looks at him, again, confused to why he would ask such a question.  
“I don’t know, I ran like hell!”  
*********  
“Son of a bitch.” Dean knew there was a reason Jane had insisted on taking that particular flashlight, and now he knows. It blinks out quickly, and he can almost sense Kat hyperventilating next to him as it dies in his hands, leaving them lit only by the bit of light pollution leaking in from the shattered windows. “It’s alright, I got a lighter,” he reassures, continuing his trek down the hallway.  
He can hear Kat’s boots a few steps behind him and uses that as confirmation she’s following as he rounds another corner, this time in a hallway with lots of windows, the breeze coming through flapping the curtains creepily. Jane would say something about it being spooky.  
Kat just mutters, “Ow you’re hurting my arm,” and keeps walking.  
Wait. Kat is ten feet behind him.  
And unless his arms have grown ten times in size, he’s not squeezing her arm.  
“Kat?” He whips around quickly, ready to shoot whatever ghost is holding onto her, but there’s nothing-just a disembodied hand latched onto her shoulder. And then the hand grabs her, opens a door, and slams her in with a loud boom.  
He bangs on it a few times, in time with Kat’s bangs, but the cold steel is locked closed-he’s not getting in there anytime soon-and Kat’s not getting out either.  
“Let me out! Please!” She begs, sounding absolutely terrified. He tugs on the handle with all of his strength and then some, but it doesn’t budge, the rusting metal only digging into his hands.  
“KAT!” He yells, glancing around for anything that could possibly help him crack this door. “Hang on!” His eyes land on an old crowbar, probably used as a weapon during the riot-but it’ll work for this.  
First he tries slamming it against the door, but that does just about as much as you’d expect, only resulting in a dent the size of his pinky finger. His next idea is to use it as crowbars are supposed to be used, to pry open the door. It’s not successful though, and he can hear Kat screaming on the other side of the door. It activates that part of his brain that goes off whenever he hears Sam or Jane scream (probably because they sound alike) and he goes back to banging on the door uselessly.  
“What’s going on?” Sam demands, rounding the corner quickly, a confused Jane and another ragged looking teenage boy in his wake.  
“She’s inside with one of them,” he explains through pants, barely giving them a second look before going back to pull on the door, using more force than he thought he had to pry it open. Still, nothing.  
“Help me!!” She screams again, causing both Jane and Gavin’s eyes to widen.  
“Kat!” He screams, his voice cracking. Dean would make a joke if he wasn’t so panicked.  
“Get me outta here!” She sobs from the other side of the door. He can hear her sliding down against the wall, probably giving into her death.  
Jane finally steps forward, taking sure strides to the door and leaning in, speaking loudly and firmly, trying to get her words through the door.  
“Kat, it’s not going to hurt you. Listen to me-you’ve gotta face him. Calm down.”  
“She's gotta what?!”  
“I have to what?!” Kat and Dean speak at the same time, and he can imagine she’s making a similar face as he yanks her back by her hood, ready to scream at her for suggesting an untrained civilian do something stupid like that. For suggesting anyone do something like that.  
“The spirits aren’t trying to hurt us Dean, they’re trying to communicate. We have to face them, listen to them.” Her eyes are big and wide, trying to get him to listen, to hear her.  
When was the last time Dean listened to her? When was the last time he focused on his brilliant sister instead of fighting with his brother? She’s been begging for peace since the beginning. She believes this, and Sam standing against the wall over there does too.  
For once in Dean’s life, he doesn’t pick a fight, and he lets them take the lead.  
“Kat, It's the only way to get out of there!” Jane turns back to the door and shouts through.  
“No!”  
“Look at it, come on. You can do it.” She encourages, laying her palm flat against the steel. Dean finds himself holding his breath, almost restraining himself from going back and banging against the door, demanding Kat be let out. But he lets Jane’s idea take the lead, letting himself fall into the current and keep going.  
Silence. His heart lurches, imagining the worst on the other side of the door.  
“Kat?” Gavin calls shakily, stepping forward to mirror Jane’s pose of concentration, almost like they’re speaking to her through the door.  
“Babe, I hope you’re right about this,” he mutters, prompting her to open one of her eyes. She takes another deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut again, pressing her lips into a thin line.  
“Me too.”  
The seconds tick by like hours, each moment of nothing being another moment where Dean considers what could be on the other side of that door. Kat ripped open, blood all over the floor. Kat’s spirit, newly taken into the world, complete with the patient's crazy eyes. Or maybe, just maybe, she’s standing and listening to the ghosts.  
Click. Click. The knob turns, and out walks Kat. Her eyes are wide and terrified, but she’s standing. There’s no blood, there’s no wounds, just a frazzled teenage girl.  
The entire room breathes a sigh of relief, exhaling dusty air into the hall. Jane glances inside the room, but comes out shaking her head. No spirit, just a room.  
“One thirty-seven.”  
“Sorry?”  
“It whispered in my ear,” Kat mutters, leaning her shoulder against her boyfriend. “137. You were right.”  
Dean glances at Jane, then Sam, hoping they have the same idea about this message from the beyond.  
“Room number?”  
“Room number.”  
Jane grabs both of their sleeves and pulls them around the corner, crouching down by the moldy and cement wall and speaking quietly, like there’s a secret being told. “Alright. So if these spirits aren't trying to hurt anyone…”  
“Then what are they trying to do?” Dean finishes. She just nods in agreement, scrubbing her old faded boots against a patch of mossy stuff on the ground.  
“Maybe that's what they've been trying to tell us…” Sam offers, almost as a question. There are way too many question marks with this whole plan, but Jane did seem to be right-the spirit’s aren’t trying to hurt them directly, they’re just trying to communicate.  
“I guess we’ll find out,” he finishes, standing up and then helping Jane to her feet, leaning down so only she can hear his next words. “Nice work kid.” A tiny smile graces her face before she rounds the corner and faces Kat and Gavin, who are currently staring at the rusted door.  
“Are you guys ready to leave this place?” Kat laughs and shakes her head.  
“That’s an understatement.”  
With a quick glance at her brothers for permission, Jane takes charge, splitting them up to continue the hunt.  
“Okay, Sammy, you get them outta here. I’ll go with Dean, find room 137. Sound good?” They all nod. “Okay, let’s do this.”  
*********  
Sam’s never seen Dean let Jane take charge like that, but it’s a welcome change. It also tells him what he’s been suspecting all this time-Dean trusts other people to lead, just not him.  
“So. How do you guys know about all this ghost stuff?” Kat asks shyly, brushing her fingers across the cement wall. It nearly crumbles under her touch.  
Sam sighs, not in a good enough mood to give a kind answer and bites out his reply. “It’s our job.”  
“Why would anyone want a job like that?” She asks.  
Sam can’t help but laugh at that, images of them bleeding out or getting attacked flitting through his brain. Nobody wants this job-you’re forced into it. You’re born a hunter and then you grow up that way, and no matter how damn hard you try to get out you’re stuck in it like a fast moving river.  
His frustration only grows as the thoughts run through his head, but he has to censor himself from going on a rant that should be aimed at Dean and Jane-or his Dad for god’s sake-and goes with a classic Winchester defense mechanism.  
“I had a crappy guidance counselor.”  
“And Dean? Is he your boss? And Jane is she like, an intern or something-”  
“No. Dean isn’t my boss. And Jay isn’t an intern.”  
After about seven minutes of silence and winding through the hallways, broken only by occasional chatter from the teens behind him, Sam comes across the doors out of the south wing. He tugs on one, but it doesn’t open. The other’s the same. Shit.  
“Alright. I think we have a small problem,” he announces, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible as to not worry the teenagers whose eyes are widening by the second. Gavin glances from the door to Sam, trying to make a quick calculation in his mind.  
“Then break it down,” he tries. Sam assesses the steel, the probability that it’s being locked by ghosts, and his strength level and almost laughs at the suggestion.  
“I don’t think that’s gonna work.”  
“Then a window?”  
“They’re barred,” Kat explains to the floundering Gavin, frowning at his growing panicked stance and expression. The panic is rising in the room and soon it’ll be a flood.  
“Then how are we supposed to get out?!”  
“That’s the point. We’re not,” Sam explains, making sure the gun is loaded and turning his back to the door. If they’re gonna have to fight this ghost then they’re gonna have to fight this ghost. “There’s something in here, and it doesn’t want us to leave.”  
Kat frowns and glances around, taking a defensive stance that consists of squared shoulders and absolutely nothing else that would help if a spirit would attack. “Those patients…”  
“No.” Sam denies. As much as he questioned his sister’s theory earlier, he’s fully on board now and willing to defend it. “Something else.”  
*********  
“What do you think’s in 137?” Jane asks as they come into another long hallway, rusted shut doors and broken windows lining them on the sides.  
Dean only shrugs, counting the numbers on the doors as they go past. 120, 122, 124, on and on and on. Glass crunches, wind blows through the holes in the wall, they keep walking through the shadows.  
“I think it’s just gonna be a shit ton of bones.  
137\. The door looks just like the others, but when he opens it it feels lighter, like it wants to be opened. The room looks the same as all the others on the inside though, as Jane’s light flashes across it. Destroyed desks and medical equipment, papers all over the room, dust and cobwebs over every surface.  
Jane goes straight to a table in the corner, sifting through papers and other items, but the best she can get is a shrug. Dean opens a filing cabinet, but the most interesting thing in there is a spider.  
Jane sighs. “Well, it’s not bones. It’s just a lot of paper.” She kicks the old wood paneling lightly, and Dean watches as her foot goes straight through. But instead of old drywall and shit, there’s a hole-a hidden cabinet. “And a hidden space,” she finishes, her smile growing at her findings.  
She reaches into the darkness as Dean paces over, and her hand comes out covered in dust and holding a big leather satchel, crusted and stained papers, peeking out from underneath the top. His smile grows to match her own as they take in their findings.  
“This is why we get paid the big bucks, kiddo.”  
“You’re telling me.”  
The papers inside the satchel are almost creepier than the medical instruments lying around the place. They look like they used to be from an old medical guidebook, with anatomical drawings and instructions on how to perform certain procedures, but everythings been colored over by rushed angry brushstrokes, someone obviously taking out their own crazy here. Over the diagrams of brains there are chunks completely scribbled out, dosages for medicines rewritten two to three times bigger, sketches of instruments that make his blood run cold.  
“All work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy,” Jane mutters, examining a page that looks like a ‘how-to-lobotomize’ guide.  
Ellicott may have been the one running the asylum, but from the pictures he’s getting here, maybe he should have been in it.  
*********  
It had to have been almost an hour when Sam gives up the search. This damn place has no back doors, no unbarred windows, and no damn escapes-it’s gotta be some kind of a fire hazard at this point. His frustration is rising, and at this point he couldn’t place who or what he’s mad at if he wanted to. “Alright, I've looked everywhere. There's no other way out.” He returns to Gavin and Kat, who lean against the wall casually, Gavin looking significantly more freaked out than Kat.  
“So what the hell are we gonna do?” He almost demands, and Sam has to shove down the urge to grab his shoulders and shake. He puts on the calm, collected face he always does, letting himself return to his role in this family, this world. The logical one, the responsible one. Certainly not the one to let an ongoing argument with his brother carry over into a situation where civilians-young civilians-could get hurt.  
“Well for starters, we're not gonna panic-  
“Why the hell not!” The breath he has to take after that is so deep he feels it in his toes. Luckily, he’s saved from having to verbally address it as his phone rings, Dean’s name flashing on the screen. He clicks the green button and takes a few steps away from the teenagers.  
“Hey.”  
“Sam, it's me. I see it. It's coming at us. It’s gonna get Jane.” His blood turns to ice at those words, his whole body turning into protect-them mode.  
“Where are you?”  
“I'm in the basement. Hurry up!” He demands, the cell service cracking a few times.  
Sam nods and shakes his head, trying to align his thoughts in a logical order. “I'm on my way.” They can handle themselves for one moment, first thing’s first-Kat and Gavin.  
“Can either of you handle a shotgun?” Gavin’s eyebrows fly up, his whole face contorting into shock as he backs away from the suggestion.  
“What?! No!”  
“I can.” Kat, 5’2 little Kat speaks up, hesitantly standing up. “My Dad took me skeet shooting a coupla times.”  
He smiles as Gavin blanches, taking a physical step back from his girlfriend who can-apparently-wield a shotgun. It’s not shocking to Sam, and he knows Jane would be happy to see another girl taking charge of herself.  
He holds out the gun with one hand, straight at Kat, offering her the end that could cause trouble. “Alright, here.” She takes it into her hands with practiced professionalism, a familiarity that’s similar to what he’s seen his sister do. “It's loaded with rock salt. It may not kill a spirit, but it will repel it. So if you see something, shoot.”  
With one more warning glance at them to be safe, he heads off, nearly sprinting down the stairs into the old basement, looking every which way for any sign of his siblings. A glance of blonde hair or the butt of a gun, but he’s greeted with nothing. Nada. Zip. It’s like they disappeared, and Sam feels his heart clench with fear. Damnit, what if he wasn’t fast enough, and in a few moments he’ll be greeted with them-now crazy, driven insane by the spirits in this place.  
“Dean! Jane!”  
As if taking the cue from his beating heart, his flashlight flickers and then gives out, leaving him lit by only the little bit of starlight from the window. He taps on it twice, but is startled away from his activities by a door behind him swinging open with a loud crack.  
“Guys?”  
He takes a step towards the door but his attention is diverted to a curtain, where the tiny flicker of a shadow crosses. He doesn’t catch much, but he saw the silhouette of a wrist, complete with a leather band around it-he knows that band. Those bastards were pulling some kind of sick trick on him, and all of that anger he had earlier replaced with concern is gone, leaving only annoyance towards his childish siblings, always obeying and following the rules until they decided to do something stupid and immature.  
But one movement of the curtain reveals nothing.  
And then there’s hands on his skull, and images of Dean and Jane yelling at him and his Dad, so much of his Dad screaming and ordering, and there’s an electricity running through his brain and his eyes, lighting his soul on fire and igniting his thoughts, the gasoline that had been simmering for days, weeks. He’s angry, and it hurts he’s so mad. He wants to hurt, he wants to do it his way, he wants to scream-he wants to kill.  
“Don't be afraid. I'm going to make you all better,” a voice says, and although some part of him tells him to be afraid, tells him to run, that part is buried now.  
The part that hates his Dad and Jane and fucking Dean, the part with a brain is alive and in fucking flames.  
*********  
Once Dean has decided he’s read enough of the creepy scribbles to uncover Dr. Ellicott’s plans and purpose, he heads back to the exit of the building, down the stairs two at a time, speed walking down the cobwebby hall. When he finally reaches the big double doors, he’s greeted with a shotgun blast right at the face.  
“Damn it! Damn it!” He shouts, grabbing Jane at pulling her behind the now exploding plaster. She curses too, but a little more colorfully than he was. “Don’t shoot, it’s me!”  
“Sorry! Sorry,” Kat shouts as the dust settles, lowering the gun that Sam must have handed her. He lets Jay out of the death grip he had on her (brother instincts, y’know) and stands up, carefully stepping around the corner and around the discarded shells.  
“What are you still fucking doing here?” Jane barks, still cursing more than Dad would allow if he were here. Dean let’s it slide because she’s cute when she gets all mad. Like a little chihuahua. But then he does a headcount. Two teenage blondes, one teenage brunette, himself...no sasquatch.  
“Where’s Sam?”  
“He went to the basement,” Gavin answers, looking at him like he’s dumb. “You called him, remember? He got all freaked out.”  
Dean’s heart nearly stops in his chest.  
“I didn’t call anybody.”  
Kat takes a step back in time with Jane, both of their shock bouncing off the walls and physically pushing them back. “His cell phone rang. He said it was you.”  
“Basement,” Jane breathes, glancing at the teens for confirmation. They nod shakily, and just like that they’re off, grabbing weapons (but leaving the shotgun that Kat can apparently operate) and sprinting back towards the stairwell, only shouting back a ‘watch yourselves’ before the door slams behind them and they’re running into the basement, Dean in the lead and Jane cocking her pistol behind him. Teenage girls with guns baby, a force to be reckoned with  
The basement looks just like the rest of the place, but it’s darker, damper, and...different. Dean doesn’t believe in energies and that crap, but this room...the air is so wet you could drink it. Every corner holds another old chair, another pile of ripped up paper, and every single one feels like it’s been put there on purpose to scare the hell out of them. If the upstairs area was spooky, this is downright terrifying.  
“Sam, you down here?” He calls, the words nearly dying in his throat. He slowly rotates, taking in every damn water stain and every creepy detail until he’s back to facing Jane-and Sam.  
He’s just standing there, staring straight at him with glazed over eyes. Jane takes a step right into his chest and gasps, the gun by her side flying up to aim at Sam, who quickly puts his hands up in surrender.  
“Don’t shoot, it’s me!” Jay drops the gun as fast as it came out, closing her eyes and putting a hand over her heart to calm it.  
“Dude, answer when we call you. You alright?”  
“Yeah. I'm fine,” Sam shrugs, kicking aside an old syringe and stepping into a puddle, letting Jane have her space again. Dean shifts his feet again, still creeped out by that look he was giving him earlier.  
“You know it wasn't me who called your cell, right?”  
“Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here,” Sam explains, relatively calm for the current situation. Jane furrows her brow in response, but Dean beats her to the explanation they uncovered in room 137.  
“Dr. Ellicott, that’s what. It’s what the spirits have been trying to tell us.” His eyes narrow as he takes his brother in. “You haven’t seen him have you?  
Sam shakes his head dismissively and begins walking through the basement, leading them towards what seems to be a smaller room, more like an office-maybe an electrical room or something. “How do you know it was him?”  
“I found his logbook,” Jane explains proudly, her ponytail bouncing as she falls in step next to Sam. He barely glances down at her as she continues telling her great tale of success. “He was experimenting on his patients, some fucked up shit man. It made lobotomies look like asprin.”  
“But it was the patients who rioted,” Sam deadpans, addressing the concern in his voice-but not his face. He just keeps walking, opening an old rusted door without any fear of what may be on the other side. He doesn’t seem scared at all by this creepy old place.  
“Well yea, they were rioting against Dr. Ellicott,” she explains, glancing around the new room hesitantly. No reaction. “He was working on some kind of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier.” She’s on a roll now, into one of those Jane-rants while she puts together the clues to make a final explanation. “So I think that maybe his spirit is doing the same thing? The cop, the kids in the 70’s, making them so angry they kill people.”  
She takes a deep breath and glances up at Sam, looking for some kind of affirmation. Normally he’d congratulate her, call her a ‘kid-genius’ or ‘my genius sister’, ruffle her hair and help come up with a game plan. Especially now, after he’s supported her previous theory about the spirits being harmless, he should be on board and celebrating with her. But he does nothing. Dean knew he was mad at them, but this mad…  
“I think we’ve gotta burn his bones, find his body.”  
“How? The police never found it.”  
Her smile falters as Dean continues thinking. “The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he'd work on his patients. So, maybe the patients dragged him down here, did a little work on him themselves. And I’m pretty much a pro at finding hidden rooms, so.”  
Sam tilts his head in doubt, pushing through another set of doors into a rotting wooden room, covered in black mold. It’s so tainted that Dean wouldn’t even know what the original color was. All that bad covering something normal. “I don't know, it sounds kinda…”  
“Crazy?” Jane finishes for him, evidently picking up on his disapproval now. “Yeah. That’s the point.”  
Jane begins to kick at the walls again, just as she did earlier. It’s a strange strategy, but it worked last time, so maybe it will this time. He bends down to look through the splintered wood, hoping to catch a glimpse of light through the cracks. Sam though, he just stands there like a stick in the center of the room.  
“I told you I looked everywhere,” he nearly whines, tone as flat as it was earlier. “I didn't find a hidden room.”  
“Well, that's why they call it hidden,” he sasses back, not willing to play fair if he isn’t. Suddenly he stops, holding out his hand for Jane to stop two. She pauses her kicks for a second and opens her eyes widely. She can hear it too, Dean can tell. “You hear that?”  
“What?” Sam sounds nearly frustrated by them, and Dean almost wants to slap him. He holds out his hand again, and this time he can feel it-wind. Moving air. The secret door is right behind him.  
“There’s a door here.”  
Quickly he goes to the task of breaking it down, but he’s stopped by a few sounds. One is the click of a gun. Two is Jane’s voice, with that I’m-not-okay tone, saying “Dean?”  
“Dean.” Sam repeats, his voice as dead as his eyes. A small drop of blood falls out of his nose in time with his motions, as he slowly raises the gun and points it straight at Jane, who stops in her tracks. She was walking towards him, but she’s forced to freeze when Sam-her goddamn brother-points a fucking gun at her.  
Dean’s heart nearly stops in his chest at seeing that, and only a glance from Jay’s wide eyes triggers that part of his brain that just screams protect.  
“Step back from the door.” Sam demands, his finger hovering dangerously over the trigger. He knows that one twitch could send rounds-salt rounds but rounds nonetheless-straight into his baby sister’s chest, and for that reason he keeps calm and forces himself not to literally jump in front of her.  
“Sam, put the gun down.” Stay calm, disarm, keep your eyes on him. Almost the scariest part are his eyes, no longer unseeing and steady but just...mad. Fiery anger at them, and he’s the one with the gun.  
Sam smirks. “Is that an order?” He sounds cruel, and Jane physically flinches at his voice with that tone.  
“No, it’s more of a friendly request.”  
The gun shifts again as Sam takes a step towards Jay. He’s not stupid, he knows that if he wants to get Dean to stay still he needs to point it at her and not him, but it’s making Dean’s stomach clench and fingers itch because he just wants to throw her behind him.  
“’Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders.”  
“I knew it.” To say he’s surprised to hear Jay’s voice is an understatement, but he doesn’t stop her. “Ellicott did something to you.”  
“For once in your goddamn life Jane, shut your mouth.” She takes a physical step back at that one, her eyes never leaving the end of the gun. He can’t help it this time, Dean reaches his hand out and pulls her next to him. The gun follows her though, and Sam’s perfect aim is still there.  
“What are you gonna do, Sam?” Taunting may be a bad idea, but Dean knows that’s the best way to get the gun onto him. “Gun’s filled with rock salt. It’s not gonna kill me.” Sam sadly, knows this is his strategy and only moves his eyes to meet him. He smiles, the corners of his mouth barely sliding up in some twisted version of Sam’s real smile.  
“No.”  
BANG!  
Jane flies backwards, breaking the wood and sending her hurtling into the hidden room that had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Dean instantly rushes to her side, and when he tries to get her to sit up-because wounded is a weakness, strength is an advantage-she just makes this little whining noise and tries to curl into herself.  
“But it’ll hurt like hell.”  
And it must really hurt, because she’s nearly hyperventilating little shallow breaths, as if breathing itself is painful-and it probably is-and she lets a few more of those little whimpers out, the kind that makes Dean want to cry. He turns to face Sam and tries to ignore her for the moment though.  
“We gotta burn Ellicott's bones and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal,” he tries reasoning, but Sam only reloads the gun and points it back at Jay, who attempts to roll away weakly.  
“I am normal,” Sam spits out, hovering over him like some sinister force. “I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Because you expect me to follow you around with that adoring look in my eye that Jane has? Are you that desperate for his approval?”  
His breath catches in his throat, clenching around nothing. The hand that’s reaching towards Jane grabs her hand and squeezes, trying to ground himself to something when the world seems to be spinning.  
“This isn’t you talking, Sam.”  
“That's the difference between me and you two.” Jane tries to sit up, weakly grabbing at Dean’s t-shirt. He props her up without taking his eyes off Sam’s. “I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic or brainless, like you.”  
“So you’re gonna...kill us then?” Her words are few and punctuated with painful sounding gasps, but she’s talking. That’s his girl, strong as hell.  
“You know what, I am sick of doing what you guys think we should do. We’re no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.”  
Is this what Sam really thinks? Is his hatred of him and his obedience this strong?  
He makes up his mind as fast as he can, grabbing Jay’s pistol from her pocket and holding it out to Sam. “Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you.” Sam hesitates. Jane pulls on his sleeve. “Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.”  
“De…”  
“TAKE IT!” Without a moment of remorse, he snatches the gun and points it straight at Dean, landing right between his eyes. Jane tries to pull herself towards him, probably trying to get between the gun and him. He holds her back with one hand and a single look.  
It’ll be okay.  
“You hate me that much, huh? You think you could kill your own brother, your own baby sister?” He lets the air hang for a second, lets the fire in his chest dwindle a bit. “Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.”  
All eyes are on the gun. With one move, Sam could ruin everything, everything they’ve built. This perfect family, this house of cards they’ve created could fall over with one twitch of a finger.  
“DO IT!”  
Jane shouts something, somewhere between fear and rage, but all Dean can hear is a single click. His eyes are dead when he makes the final choice, not an ounce of regret there.  
Click. Click. Nothing. Sam and Jay realize at the same time, and that’s when he strikes-when he’s surprised. With one sweep of the legs he’s down and clutching at his head, and with one punch he’s out, unconscious on the floor of the little room.  
“You really think I’d give him a loaded pistol baby?” She laughs a little bit, letting herself fully fall onto her back and wincing at the movement. He bends down to help her sit up, marking the way she refuses to bend her spine. Broken rib maybe, he’ll have to check. Until then, they have a body to burn.  
Dean pushes back ragged curtains and looks under destroyed chairs while Jay checks the desk, pulling open drawers and clutching at her side. Finally Dean bends down to an old cabinet, the only thing left to look at, and with one whiff he knows it’s in there.  
Smells like shit.  
“In here, kid,” he beckons, and she limps over, her nose scrunching adorably as she notices the smell.  
“Ew.”  
The corpse looks exactly as he’d expect, almost a mummy but a bit too fleshy to be comfortable.  
Jay tosses him the salt and he douses the corpse with it, making sure every part of it is covered in the coarse white material. Next is the kerosene, coating the corpse until it’s as shiny as a diamond.  
“Dean?”  
“Hold on kid, I’m almost ready-”  
“DEAN!”  
Dean is thrown against the wall, his body slamming into the plaster as it cracks under his own weight. His vision blurs, but he can see a hand reaching towards his face, and Jay crawling around in the background trying to light the body. The last thing he can do before the hand touches his face and pain becomes his everything is toss the lighter his way.  
“Don't be afraid. I'm going to help you. I'm going to make you all better.”  
Sam. Sam yelling at him, Sam disobeying Dad, Sam saying I don’t need you.  
The psycho that hurt Jay. Finding her in the snow all bloody, sobbing for hours over her new scar.  
Dad. Dad standing there, staring him down. Dad leaving him alone, Dad refusing to be found.  
Anger, rage. And for a second, Dean understands why Sam would want to kill him.  
And then it’s gone. Ellicott disappeared in a blaze of flame, Jane apparently having pulled herself over to the lighter and then lit the body up.  
His heart is beating too fast, his breath matching the pace. That fire that the spirit had set is still there just...settled. Or maybe it’s always been there.  
“Thanks kid.”  
“Yeah. No problem.”  
Suddenly a gasp rips through the room, Sam sitting up quickly. Dean feels his shoulders tense as Jay quickly struggles to stand up, trying to get as far away from him as possible.  
“You’re not going to try to kill us again, are you?” Jane asks, wobbling on her feet.  
Sam rubs his jaw, the bruise Dean put there already beginning to form. Maybe it’s the after-effects of whatever the ghost did to him, or the image of him pointing a gun at Jane’s chest, but he doesn’t have it in him to feel bad yet.  
“No,” Sam mutters, raising to his feet and trying to help Jane gain her footing. Dean can see he feels bad by the way he puts his hands delicately on her shoulders and makes sure she’s breathing okay.  
Jane brushes some dirt and ashes off of her pants, gratefully leaning into Sam and letting him support her weight as they limp back to the exit of the asylum. “Good. Because that would be awkward.”  
*********  
Once they’ve dropped off Gavin and Kat at their houses and warned them to never go into someplace haunted ever again, Sam speaks.  
“Guys, I’m sorry. I hurt you Jay, and I said some awful things…”  
“You remember that?” Dean asks, genuinely confused as to why. Ghost possessions usually block out a person’s memory, make the whole thing black out. Then again, this wasn’t a possession.  
“Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it, I just watched myself shoot you,” he offers Jay a weak smile who throws up a peace sign in response, obviously already forgiven him and moved on. Dean tries not to laugh. “But I didn't mean any of what I said, really.”  
“You didn’t huh?”  
Dean doubts. These fights they’ve been having are getting worse and worse, and although he knows Sam wouldn’t want to kill him but the words he said were so...Sam. They sounded like him, the words he chose the opinions. Telling them he didn’t want to be a follower, telling him he doesn’t want to just keep following orders, that was Sam. That was what the fight that had torn their family apart was about.  
No doubt, those are Sam’s thoughts.  
“Of course not!” Sam denies, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t freaking mean it Dean.” Jane leans forward from her backseat where she was setting up her bed.  
“Do we need to talk about this?”  
Silence. Staring at each other, almost daring each other to fight again. They had just done this, just figured this out so now...do we bring it back up? Do we address the issues that have just been addressed? And if they do ignore it, when does it boil over? When does it erupt, hurting Jane again, making Sam leave again, leaving Dean to pick up the pieces yet again.  
“No,” Dean denies, choosing to ignore the elephant in the room. “I’m not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.”  
So he sleeps.  
He dreams of screaming at a dented cement wall.


End file.
